Bleeding Hearts
by Wandergirl108
Summary: Sequel to my fanfic "REaDy or Not, Here I Come", this tells of Lisbon's recovery from what Red John did to her in that story…and some other things, maybe. ;D Some bits WILL be glossed over or phoned in, but what's important is that this bridges the gap between the aforementioned story and my grand finale, "Ruby Crown". Remember canon goes only through S4E9 and my prior fanfics.
1. Broken Heart

"Wake her up," Jane told the nurse.

It had been a month since he had rescued Lisbon from Red John, and the cuts on her face - which had been in the pattern of Red John's signature smiley face - had finally completely healed over without a flaw. She had been in a drug-induced coma ever since she had arrived at the hospital to ensure this; Jane had been responsible for this course of action, claiming to be her husband so that he could have complete say over her treatment.

The scene at the CBI had been one of massive chaos, not only during but also after Red John's "game" of "hide-and-go-seek" with Jane. Jane had stayed out of the mess as much as possible, focusing instead on keeping an eye on Lisbon, more for his own comfort than her safety.

Now, it was finally time for her to wake up. Jane was worried about her, but he knew that the sooner she was back in the world, the sooner she would be able to recover psychologically from her ordeal.

Or, at least, he _hoped_ that was the case.

The nurse nodded to him wordlessly and adjusted Lisbon's IV.

"Let me be with her alone for a minute," Jane said to the nurse, the words almost a plea.

"Mr. Jane, your wife needs-"

"If anything seems wrong, I'll call for help," Jane said, cutting her off and trying not to flinch at the words 'your wife'. "Just please, let me be alone with her when she wakes up. I'll help her with the transition. Please. She'll want to see me…and I'd…" He cleared his throat, taking the moment to brace himself to say what he was about to say. "I'd like to be alone with my wife," he finished.

"Of course," the nurse said with a nervous smile, and she quickly left, much to Jane's relief. He walked over to Lisbon's cot, sat down next to her, and took hold of her hand. "Lisbon," he said softly. "Lisbon, hey. Wake up."

Slowly, Lisbon opened her eyes.

"Hey," Jane said, smiling.

"Jane…?" she croaked.

"Hey, Lisbon," he said again.

Lisbon took a breath, pushing back her sleepiness. "What…where…?" She shook herself, waking up fully. Suddenly, she sat bolt upright, her eyes went wide, and she turned to Jane and exclaimed, "Red John-!"

"He's not here," Jane told her calmly. "You're in the hospital."

"Hospital…" Lisbon repeated. She laid back down, still looking at Jane. "You saved me…" she finally said.

Jane smiled, tears welling in his eyes. "Yeah, I did," he said. "I'm sorry I took so long."

"I'm…I'm sorry I kicked you in the face," Lisbon said, her voice weak. "Thank you, for saving me." Her own eyes filled with tears. "I don't know…how I can ever thank you…for what you gave up for me…"

"Oh, you don't need to thank me," Jane told her, trying to sound nonchalant; "I wouldn't have sacrificed a stranger's life to kill Red John, it was nothing personal."

"Why not?" Lisbon asked, confused.

Jane sighed. "I've been fighting Red John for years," he said somberly, "and so many innocent people have already died in the crossfire…I don't even know if his blood will be enough to wash everyone else's off my hands as it is."

Lisbon nodded, somehow understanding. Then, she blinked.

"I don't feel any pain," she said, sounding confused.

Jane nodded and sighed again, not breaking eye contact with her. "You've been here for a month," he said.

Lisbon's eyes widened. "A month?" she repeated.

Jane nodded.

"Why?" she asked.

Jane sighed again. "Red John cut up your face to look like his signature," he told her.

"You mean…" She traced lines around her face and over her eyes and mouth.

Jane nodded again. "You've been kept unconscious so that they'd heal without scarring. I had a feeling you wouldn't want to have to see that when you look in the mirror."

Lisbon nodded. "Thanks," she said.

Jane nodded sadly. "Your other cuts…" He hesitated.

"I know," she said. "They were bad."

Jane nodded again.

Lisbon turned away. Then, she smiled and, pulling her hand out of his gentle grasp, waved her finger at him. "You kissed me," she said.

Jane cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Um, yes, yes I did," he said. "I, ah…I needed to make you stop struggling, and…it…it was all I could think of on short notice…"

"Is that all?" she asked, not turning back to him.

"Yes," he said firmly.

"Oh," she said, her tone unreadable even for him.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

"Where was I?" Lisbon asked him at last.

"The middle of the desert," Jane answered. "Convenient, really, since that made it easier for him to blow the place up after he was done with it."

"Blow up…" Lisbon processed this slowly. "It's gone?"

Jane nodded.

"The answer…" Lisbon began.

Jane felt a knife in his heart. "I'm so sorry, Lisbon," he said, tears welling in his eyes again. "It shouldn't have taken me so long to find you, but I was panicking and I wasn't thinking clearly and…" He shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said again after a moment.

"It's okay," Lisbon told him softly.

"No," Jane said, shaking his head again. "No, it's not. The answer was…so simple…so obvious…"

"Whatever the code was, he knew it was something you wouldn't see," Lisbon said.

Jane blinked. "How did you know the answer was in code?" he asked. Then, a split second later, he reconsidered and said "Never mind; I don't want to hear about anything he did to you." He sighed. "It was so simple," he said again remorsefully. "All it was was seemingly random letters and numbers underlined on a page, and put together in order they spelled out where you were."

It was Lisbon's turn to blink. "That's it?" she asked.

Jane nodded, the knife in his heart twisting. "I'm so sorry."

Lisbon sighed. "It's okay," she said again; "he made it simple because he knew you wouldn't be looking for it." She turned away, an odd expression on her face. "He's like that."

For a minute, neither of them said anything.

"So…what happens now?" Lisbon finally asked.

Jane took a breath. "Well," he said, "for now, you'll stay here until the doctors say you can leave. Then you'll go home…and…you'll go into therapy." Lisbon closed her eyes and nodded. The fact that she didn't roll her eyes, and the significance of this, was not lost on Jane. He swallowed. "You won't be coming back to work, though," he told her, "not for a while at least."

"How long?" she asked listlessly.

Jane sighed. "Bertram says he won't even think about letting you come back until at least a month after you get out of the hospital," he answered. When Lisbon said nothing, he took another breath and prepared to tell her the bad news.

"Lisbon…" He took another breath, then reached out and took hold of her hand. "I'm…I'm able to be here for you right now, but…well, Bertram wanted to have some idea about how you'd be when you woke up, and…he asked some psychologists for advice." Jane smiled humorlessly. "Most of the stuff they said was all over the place - some of them even contradicted each other - which didn't surprise me in the least." Lisbon smiled at him. Forcing himself to smile back, Jane continued, "There was one thing they agreed on, though, and that was that…considering the circumstances under which you were saved, your subconscious will probably start to associate me being nearby with you being safe, which is more than a little ironic." Lisbon's smile wasn't as agreeing as he had hoped it would be, and he suddenly got a feeling that it was going to turn out to be true. "The thing is," he forced himself to go on, "Bertram doesn't want you to be…dependent on me - and neither do I! No one does! But…for some reason…" Jane sighed. "He thinks the best way to prevent that is to cut off all contact between us until you come back to work."

Lisbon's head snapped to face him, her eyes wide with panic, and the heart rate monitors she was hooked up to started beeping wildly.

Jane tightened his grip on her hand. "I'm sorry!" he exclaimed. "I've been trying to get him to see reason, but…" He shook his head, worried himself now. "He just won't listen."

"But…but…!" Lisbon stammered, and she was gripping Jane's hand so tightly he was afraid she was going to break it.

"Lisbon, I promise you, I won't stop trying," he vowed, moving closer to her. When she didn't respond, he leaned over her and put his arms around her. "Hey," he murmured soothingly, "it'll be okay…you're alive - remember that. You beat him. You're gonna be okay."

Lisbon hugged him back tightly, and to his relief, her heart rate started calming down. A moment later, the nurse, whom Jane had forgotten about completely, hurried in. Hearing the door open, Jane looked up, and he let Lisbon go. She held on to him for another second - which concerned him - then laid back down.

"Mr. Jane, I'm sorry, but I need to make sure your wife is okay," she said.

Lisbon's eyes widened, and she quickly turned to look at Jane. "'Wife'?" she exclaimed.

Jane snapped his fingers. "_Knew_ I was forgetting something," he said to himself. He turned to the nurse. "Uh, yeah, she's not really my wife," he told her.

The nurse blinked several times in surprise. "But you said-"

"I lied," Jane interrupted, feeling the need to clear up the confusion as quickly as possible. "She's my boss, and my friend, but no, she's not my wife; my wife is dead."

"But why would you-?"

"I needed to be able to call the shots when it came to her treatment in order to make sure the cuts on her face wouldn't scar, and I figured lying would be easier and faster than arguing the point." Jane answered the nurse's question before she could finish asking it.

"Oh," the nurse said, stunned.

Jane turned to Lisbon, who was too surprised to speak.

"I'll work on getting you back as soon as possible," he told her seriously. "For now, stay strong…and remember: _you survived_. You beat him, and you survived, and you're going to be okay." He smiled, squeezed her hand, and stood up. "Bye, Lisbon," he said, and he walked out the door.

Lisbon watched him leave, her eyes wide. The nurse followed her gaze.

"I wish _I_ had a friend like that," she commented.

Lisbon turned to look at the nurse questioningly.

"He didn't leave you alone for one second during this entire month," the nurse told her. "He slept here, ate here…he rarely even left to use the bathroom, and even then, he only left when someone else was here instead." She sighed. "I wish my _husband_ cared about me that much," she said wistfully.

Lisbon's eyes turned back to the closed door. I _wish he could stay here while I'm_ awake_,_ she thought miserably.

~X~

A month after she woke up, Lisbon drove home from the hospital. Her injuries had healed over a bit too quickly, in the doctors' opinions, and they had been worried about internal bleeding and a bunch of other complications she hadn't bothered paying attention to, but after another month had passed and her condition remained stable, the doctors were forced to concede and send her home.

It was late when she finally walked into her apartment. Getting through the parking garage had been hell, but at least she hadn't been coming home from work. She locked the door behind her, and suddenly, she registered the fact that she was alone.

Alone. No one around to help her if something happened…no one to hear her scream…

Panic rose in her chest.

_Breathe,_ she told herself, _relax…breathe…nothing's going to happen…He gave his word he wouldn't kill you…_

Her self-talk worked surprisingly well, and she managed to get her heart rate back down. She took some more deep breaths for good measure, then went upstairs.

_Shower._ She froze at the thought. She felt disgusting after her two months in the hospital, but she could feel her scars…she really didn't want to look at them…

She sighed. _Might as well get it over with,_ she told herself, and she went into the bathroom.

She closed her eyes as she undressed, deliberately avoiding the mirror. As she washed off, she could feel the keloid lines that crisscrossed her entire body. _I'm going to have these for the rest of my life,_ she reminded herself; _I should just get used to it._ She knew she couldn't have them removed. No; the very thought of being cut again, even surgically, threatened to give her an anxiety attack.

When she got out of the shower, she towel-dried her body, took a fortifying breath, and looked in the mirror.

Her face was unmarked; she'd known that, but she started there to comfort herself. In fact, her entire head and neck were completely unscathed.

But right below her neck…

Her eyes widened at the sight of the two massive, ropy scars that cut through her shoulders and across the top of her chest, the one on her right side far bigger than that on her left. Her right upper arm bore a thick, short scar perfectly perpendicular to the bone, and her lower right arm featured a long scar, slightly slanted, across the entire back. Her left arm was untouched.

She forced herself to look lower, and she saw the scar that crossed the middle of her torso, her internal organs shielded from it by her lowest ribs. Other than that, her front was untouched above her legs. She looked down. The scars on her legs, front and back, somehow weren't too horrifying, though they were all long and thick. _As long as I can still run,_ she thought; the cuts seemed, like all her cuts, to be perfectly positioned in such a way as to not hinder her at all. _Son of a bitch really knows human anatomy,_ she thought of Red John, though she quickly shoved the thought aside; any thought of Red John made her feel…helpless. Scared. Dead inside. _Worse_ than dead inside.

She gave herself a little shake, then looked back at the mirror. She took a deep breath, gathered her damp hair and pulled it all over her left shoulder. Then, keeping her eye on the massive scar on her right shoulder in the mirror, she turned around…and gasped.

The scar on her right shoulder cut well through, and was just as large in appearance from the back as from the front. The rest of her back was covered in huge, ugly scars that crisscrossed her back without ever actually touching each other, thus being a group of individual scars despite their numerousness and the limited space.

She felt the tears come as she realized that she would be forced to look at these scars every day…that anyone who knew her would have to, unless she wore clothes that completely covered her body all day, every day, no matter the season. Even then, they'd probably be visible; they were so big…

Her newly, feebly-reconstructed spirit broke back down at this loss of her body, and she cried.

But the night's shock's weren't over. When she got to her bedroom, the first thing she noticed was the splash of bright red on her pillow.

It was a lily. A bright red, asian lily bloom, the stem completely cut off, carefully placed on the center of her pillow, almost remindful of a hotel.

Lisbon stared at the flower in shock for a moment. Then, she lunged forward, grabbed it, wrenched open her window, and threw the flower outside, slamming the window shut behind it.

She stood there for a moment, her hands on the window frame, shaking.

_It can't have been him,_ she told herself._ He hasn't been here._

_…Dear God, _please_ don't let him have been here!_

Deep down, of course, she knew who had put it there, despite what she told herself, but she quickly entered the Lovely Land of Denial and set it aside.

She didn't think she'd sleep. She thought she would lie in bed awake, scared of her own shadow. But being in her own bed - an actual, comfortable bed - was so soothing, she fell asleep almost instantly…and quickly regretted it.

~o~

_She was back in her blood-filled corner, her vision blocked, shackled to the wall. Jane hadn't made it._

_"Time's up, My Dear Little Saint," Red John hissed. "Say good-bye to My Old Friend…and to life itself."_

_"Teresa, I'm sorry." Jane's helpless, broken voice came over the cell phone held out to her._

_"This isn't your fault," she told him as she cried. "Please don't blame yourself for this."_

_"Say goodbye…" Red John hissed again._

_"Lisbon…" She knew Jane was trying to comfort her the only way he could: by using her last name._

_"Jane," she said in response, just being able to say the word both comforting and devastating. "Goodbye. Goodbye, Patrick Jane…" She had to say it. She was going to die; she had to say it before she died. "I love you," she whispered._

_"Lisbon…"_

_"I love you," she said again, softly and tearfully. "Goodbye…my love."_

_"I love you too, Teresa Lisbon, goodbye," Jane replied, and she could hear the sincerity in his voice._

_Red John's laughter echoed throughout the room, and in her ears, as he set the phone down on the chair - so it wouldn't get in the blood pool - and lunged at her. She felt his knife cut through her body - not just skin and muscle, but organs, major arteries, vital passages…the agony was unbearable. She screamed, and screamed, agony wiping everything from her mind, barely even noticing as Red John took off her pants, not even pausing in his cutting and stabbing of her as he did so, and began to-_

~o~

"Lady! Lady, wake up! Hey! Wake up!"

Lisbon felt someone shaking her. Her reflexes kicked in, and she head-butted the guy, flung him off her, and - realized she was lying in her bed, safe and far away from Red John.

She blinked, gasping, as the last of the nightmare faded from her vision. She looked over the side of her bed and saw a man lying on the floor, groaning and clutching his face where she had hit him. Suddenly, she noticed that he was also lying at the feet of some other people, and her head snapped up to see an entire crowd standing in her room.

Her eyes widened, and she quickly grabbed her gun from her nightstand drawer, turned off the safety, and pointed it at the crowd, the feel of the gun in her hand comforting her. "Who are you people?" she demanded wildly. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"Sorry, lady, but you were screaming bloody murder and we thought someone was hurting you!" a man at the front of the crowd exclaimed defensively.

"What's the big idea, anyway?" asked someone else in the crowd. "Screaming your head off, waking up the whole damn building?"

"She was having a nightmare, give her a break," said the guy on the floor, standing up. He turned to her. "I'm sorry I scared you, but you were screaming loud enough to keep the whole city awake, so I figured you'd want to wake up."

Lisbon blinked, momentarily lost for words. She didn't lower her gun or turn the safety back on. "How did you get in here?" she demanded again, somewhat more steadily.

"I…erm…" The man who had woken her fidgeted uncomfortably. "I kind of…broke your door down. Sorry about that."

"You did _what_?" she exclaimed.

"We thought you were in trouble!" the man told her, holding up his hands and taking a step back.

"I told him the fact that the door was locked meant it was nothing," said a woman's voice.

"And _I_ told _you_ whoever was attacking her could have locked the door from the inside!" the man shot at the general crowd. He turned back to her. "I'm Sam, by the way," he said. "I live next door."

The people in the group quickly went around introducing themselves and stating where they were from. Most of them were from somewhere on Lisbon's floor, but a few of them were from the floors immediately above and below her, too.

Lisbon closed her eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry I woke you all up," she said, turning the safety on her gun back on and lowering it, though she didn't set it aside (the feel of the gun in her hand really was very comforting).

"It's okay!" Sam quickly assured her, though Lisbon had a feeling not everyone else felt that way.

"You can all go home now," she said sheepishly; "I'm sorry for the trouble."

Most of the crowd filed out of her room, some grumbling. Sam, however, stayed behind.

"What happened?" he asked her curiously. "You've got some pretty bad scars there; were you dreaming about how you got them?"

At his words, Lisbon quickly set her gun down on her nightstand and yanked her sheets over her, covering the few scars that were showing. "I…" She swallowed. "I don't…"

"It's okay if you don't want to tell me about it," Sam said quickly. "It's none of my business; I was just wondering…"

"No, no, it's fine," she told him, somehow put at ease by his awkward manner. "I…" She sighed again. "I was kidnapped and tortured for three weeks by a monster," she said, deciding to give the briefest version she could think of. "I was cut up, psychologically tortured, and I nearly died. That was two months ago. I just got out of the hospital today. I…" She swallowed. "I was dreaming that…the man who saved me…didn't save me." She fought to keep herself from crying. "I was dreaming that he…finished me off."

Sam blinked. "Wow," he commented. "No wonder you were screaming like you were."

Lisbon nodded. "I'm sorry I disturbed you," she said; "really, I am…it's just…being home is…hard, I guess. It's hard to adjust. I start therapy tomorrow, so it shouldn't happen again."

"You shouldn't apologize for what some psycho did to you," Sam said.

Lisbon smiled faintly at the irony of Sam's choice of words. _Psycho. If only,_ she thought._ If only that's what he was…not the monster he really is…_

"Thank you for waking me up," she said sincerely. Then, suddenly remembering the concept of manners, she held out her (left) hand and said, "I'm Teresa Lisbon."

"Sam Patterson. Nice to meet you. Well, sort of. I guess. I mean, no offense-"

"It's okay," Lisbon said, mercifully cutting off Sam's babble and shaking his hand.

Sam nodded awkwardly. "So, uh…what's with the gun?" he asked, motioning to the gun sitting on her nightstand.

"Oh! I'm a agent in the California Bureau of Investigation," she answered.

"That's…a cop?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Lisbon said, smiling a little in spite of herself. "Yeah, I'm a cop."

Sam his eyebrows. "Wow. Guess that explains your crazy head-butt." He laughed nervously. "I'd hate to find out what you did to the bastard who kidnapped you."

"He got away," Lisbon said. Then she smiled and added, "I bit his arm, but he…dealt with it pretty quickly."

"O-_kaaay_," Sam said, obviously a bit confused.

Lisbon shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said, "I know I'm not making much sense."

"No, no, it's okay," Sam said quickly.

Lisbon swallowed and nodded, closing her eyes, glad he wasn't pressing her for details.

"So…" Sam said after a minute. "Are you going to be okay, or do you need someone here to wake you up if you start having nightmares again?" The question was completely sincere, and Lisbon knew he had no ulterior motives in asking.

"I…" She hesitated. Then, she glanced at her clock, and was surprised to see it was only 2:00 A.M. She looked back at Sam. "That would…that would be…"

"I'll sleep on the floor," Sam assured her quickly.

She smiled, embarrassed, but at the same time knowing she really did need his help. "I'd be…I'd be very grateful if you would do that, thank you. I mean, if it's not too much trouble."

"Oh, no, it's fine!" Sam reassured her, and he sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall. "Honestly, I need to sit down here for a minute anyway. You hit _hard_."

"Sorry," Lisbon said quickly. "It was a reflex."

"Cop reflex, I get it," Sam said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "How some nut job managed to get you, I have no idea."

"He's not a nut job," Lisbon said softly; "he's a monster."

"Aren't they the same thing?" Sam asked.

"I used to think so," Lisbon said, lying back down, her voice turning soft as she recalled the broken, powerless way Red John had made her feel. "Then I met him…"

Sam said nothing, and Lisbon was grateful for that. She closed her eyes…

Her nightmare began again, and it felt even more real than before. She was saying goodbye to Jane, when she felt someone shaking her gently.

"Lady - Teresa - wake up. It's Teresa, right? Wake up."

Lisbon's eyes flew open, and she saw Sam kneeling in front of her face over the side of the bed.

She sat up. "Thanks," she said, slightly breathless. She noticed that she was sweating.

"No problem," Sam replied with a quick, nervous smile. Lisbon smiled back warmly, noticing for the first time that Sam was very young - probably no older than 25. _Poor kid, having to babysit me,_ she thought.

He scooted back against the wall. He looked at her for a minute, as though debating whether or not to say something. Finally, he asked her, "Who's Patrick Jane?"

She stiffened. "What?"

"You were talking in your sleep," Sam told her; "that's how I knew you were having a nightmare. You were saying goodbye to someone. You called them Jane, and then you called them Patrick Jane, so…"

"He's on my team," Lisbon said, "so I call him by his last name. We all use last names. It's protocol."

"Oh," Sam said, nodding. "So…who is he?"

"He's…the man who rescued me," Lisbon answered, not sure how much she wanted to tell and wondering if Sam had heard her say "I love you" in her dream. _What was that even _about_, anyway?_ she wondered. _I don't love him…_

_Do I?_

_"Any fool with eyes can see you're hopelessly, madly in love with him…" _Red John's words echoed in her mind.

Oblivious to Lisbon's thoughts, Sam asked, "Why were you saying goodbye to him? I mean, _just_ him?"

Lisbon sighed and decided to tell Sam some of what she knew she was going to end up having to tell her therapist the next day anyway. "I was kidnapped because of Jane," she said. "Jane and I…we're good friends, even though I'm his boss and he's a loose cannon."

"You're his boss?" Sam repeated.

"Well, yeah," Lisbon replied. "I mean, he's not a cop, he's a consultant…look him up, you'll find out everything you need to know about him without too much trouble. Long story short, a serial killer has a vendetta against him and likes to make him miserable, and since I'm his best friend, I was taken, and Jane was given the opportunity to save me because Red John thinks that there's no failure if there's no chance of success or something like that…"

"Wait a minute," Sam interrupted. "Red John? That psycho killer who draws smiley faces in people's blood?"

"That's the one," Lisbon replied with a humorless smile. Then she added, "But he's not a psycho. He's…" She bit her lip. "He's perfectly sane," she told Sam, her voice soft and timid once more. "He's just…a monster. An evil monster, and proud of it." Seeing that Sam had opened his mouth to ask for details, Lisbon quickly said, "I don't want to talk about him. Living as his captive for three weeks was more than enough time spent in his twisted head."

"Oh, okay," Sam replied, backing down quickly.

_He's so polite,_ Lisbon thought._ Nice kid. Wonder what his story is…_

And it was only then that she realized exactly what his name was: _Sam_. Samuel. Like Bosco…

Coincidence? Or…?

She quickly pushed the thought from her mind; she could already sense the direction her mind was starting to go with that thought, and she knew that that way madness lay…and it was already going to be a long night.

~X~

Sam had to wake her up six more times during the night. When he left in the morning, Lisbon suddenly felt unsafe in her solitude. Before, she had always been perfectly happy with the fact that she lived alone. Now, however…

Red John's laughter echoed in the silence. His voice haunted her. His pitch-black form, and the indiscernible figure she had known him as for three weeks, lurked in the shadows and the edges of her vision. He was everywhere…he was _in_ her, in her head._ Will I ever be free of him?_ she wondered.

And then there was the flower…

_No,_ she told herself sternly. _Don't think about that. Whatever you do, don't think about that._

Still, Lisbon couldn't help but look around outside her apartment building on the side where her window was situated to see if it was still there. She found its crushed remains in a gutter, and she quickly hurried away from it.

Therapy wasn't helpful, not that she had expected it to be. The last time she'd been in therapy, her therapist had drugged her and tried to frame her for murder, which certainly didn't help her already-shaky composure. Besides, she didn't want to talk to a stranger about what had happened to her; shrink or no, they wouldn't get it, she knew they wouldn't. She wanted to talk to someone who would understand.

She wanted to talk to Jane.

But she wasn't allowed to.

_Damn you, Bertram._ The thought flitted through her mind unexpectedly, and she was surprised to find just how heartfelt it was. More than anything else in the world, she wanted to talk to Jane, or to at least have _some_ form of contact with him. She didn't know why, but just the thought of talking to him made her feel a bit better. She wasn't even amused by the irony of it. She just wanted to see him, or talk to him, or _something_. _Anything_.

Weeks passed. Sam had to stay over with her every night, and her nightmares didn't get much better as time went on. She didn't get much sleep, and rest was almost little more than a fantasy. Without even thinking about it, Lisbon quickly purged her apartment of everything red, or even remotely reddish._ The color of death._ Red John's idea was stuck in her head, and she couldn't get rid of it.

She couldn't get rid of _him_.

Despite the fact that she wasn't getting any better, Lisbon managed to convince her therapist to let her go back to work after one month, arguing that she might feel better if she had her job to distract her from the thoughts that haunted her when she was alone…and that she needed to see Jane. This argument was the subject of an entire week's worth of sessions, but her therapist finally conceded, and Lisbon readied herself to go back to her life.

Of course, it didn't occur to her that she would be re-entering enemy territory in doing so until she got there…


	2. Brave Heart, Part 1

Rigsby, Cho, Van Pelt, and Jane all sat in their respective places in the office space, waiting for Lisbon. None of them were relaxed. Red John's "game" had shaken the entire Bureau and everyone in it, even those who weren't close to Lisbon, and everyone on the team had suffered. Most of all, everyone was worried about whether or not Lisbon would be able to do her job, if she was even mentally or emotionally okay at all - it was common knowledge that Red John had tortured her on the physical, mental, and emotional levels until she'd broken.

Lisbon walked in right on time, her demeanor surprisingly normal.

"Boss!" exclaimed Van Pelt, jumping up. Rigsby and Cho jumped up, too, and before Lisbon could react, the three of them surrounded her in a group hug (yes, even Cho).

"Aah!" exclaimed Lisbon, laughing. "Okay, let me go, I can't breathe, I can't breathe!" Still laughing, the four broke up.

"Jeez, at least Red John didn't try to suffocate me," Lisbon joked.

The atmosphere instantly turned somber, and even Lisbon's smile vanished; she hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Lisbon."

Lisbon turned in the direction of Jane's voice, and her eyes met his.

"Hey," he said softly.

For a moment, Lisbon didn't respond. Then, all of a sudden, she lunged forward and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder.

Caught by surprise, Jane hesitantly hugged her back. Once he did, he felt her relax into him, and he could tell right away that something was very, _very_ wrong.

"I missed you," Lisbon murmured to him softly.

"I missed you too," he replied as softly, completely unsure how else to respond.

As soon as she was in Jane's arms, Lisbon suddenly felt something she hadn't felt since she had been kidnapped: _safe_. She hadn't felt completely safe before then, not really - not in the hospital, not in her car, not even in her own home…but in Jane's arms, she felt safe and at ease, like she could relax, and she wanted to stay there forever. She didn't even register that she was acting unusually.

For a whole minute, no one moved. The silence grew increasingly more awkward, until finally, Jane cleared his throat.

"Uh…Lisbon?" he said.

"Mm?"

"You, uh…" Jane cleared his throat again, awkwardly. "You can let go now."

"Mm…Do I have to?" Lisbon asked, almost sleepily.

Jane glanced over her shoulder at his friends, and the four of them exchanged worried looks; none of them would have expected Lisbon to say anything like that, ever.

"Um…" Jane replied after a minute, "yeah…you, uh…you kinda do."

Lisbon let the sound of Jane's voice wash over her soothingly before she processed what he'd actually said. Then she groaned, like someone who was being woken up from a deep sleep and did _not_ appreciate it, and slowly backed away from him, missing his touch immediately.

Jane put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes deeply, reading her, but though he tried, he couldn't find his friend in there; all he could see was a frightened little girl who needed to be comforted and was looking at him like he could make all the monsters go away.

"You shouldn't be here," he told her softly. "You're not ready to be back."

"I need to be here!" Lisbon exclaimed, and the whine in her voice was audible to everyone present, super-intuitive or not. "I've been going crazy these past two months! I…" She closed her eyes and bit her lip, looking like she was trying not to cry. "I need to be here," she finally repeated, her voice soft and timid. She opened her eyes and looked up at Jane. "I need this. I can't keep sitting at home with nothing to distract me from…" She trailed off, unable to say it out loud.

"Lisbon, this isn't a good place for you," Jane said, trying to reason with her.

In reply, she said something he never thought he would hear come out of her mouth, something that summed up exactly what her ordeal had reduced her to:

"Wherever _you_ are is a good place for me…and wherever you're _not_ is a bad one."

Jane blinked. She wasn't saying it with any sort of romantic feeling, he knew - she was more of a scared little girl who needed her daddy. Still, he knew then that, just as had been the case when she had been Red John's captive, he was the only one in the world who could help her…and that meant that he needed to keep her close, no matter what.

"Okay," he said gently. "I'm here for you, if you really need me."

No sooner had Jane finished saying this than Bertram walked in.

"Agent Lisbon," he said by way of greeting. "Welcome back."

Lisbon spun around, quickly composing herself. "Thank you, sir, it's good to be back," she replied, sounding surprisingly like her old self, though Jane was far from fooled.

"I hope you weren't expecting to get off easy just because it's your first day back," Bertram began.

"Whoa, hey, hold on a minute!" Jane started to protest at the same time Lisbon said, "No, sir."

"Good." Bertram pulled out a file and dropped it on the nearest desk with a _thwack_. "You're up." And before Jane could protest any further, he walked away.

Lisbon only hesitated for a moment before picking up the tab. Jane watched her closely as she proceeded, but she seemed okay on the surface. In fact, whenever he couldn't look in her eyes, he could almost convince himself that everything had gone back to normal. When he _did_ look in her eyes, however, that illusion was shattered, as when he did so, he could see very clearly that she was running strictly on autopilot, her conscious mind far away from what she was doing.

The crime scene they were sent to was no more or less bloody than average, but Jane had been worried. Somehow, though, Lisbon _seemed_ unaffected by it. They went through the normal routine, and despite his boss's obvious trauma, Jane was almost able to convince himself that she would recover relatively easily.

_Almost_.

Then it happened.

It was the middle of the day. They had just finished interviewing people in a large building. Somehow, all five of them had ended up there, and Lisbon was giving instructions. Suddenly, she stopped mid-word.

"Boss? What is it?" asked Van Pelt, who had been the one receiving instructions at the time.

When Lisbon didn't respond, Jane walked around her so he could see her face. What he saw worried him almost to the point of fright.

Her eyes were wide - he could see the whites of her eyes all the way around her irises - and her expression was wild but somehow also blank. Her mouth was open slightly, and her breathing was very audible. Jane could even see that she was shaking. What scared him the most, though, was the look in her eyes: she wasn't seeing what was around her. She _was_ seeing _something_, though…and Jane had a pretty good idea what.

For a moment, Jane wondered what had set her off. Then he heard the music.

Someone was playing a piano nearby, and the piece was the one he remembered had been playing on iPod speakers when they had found one of Bosco's team dead in a doctor's office…with Red John's mark drawn on the wall over him.

Jane didn't waste time bothering to wonder how or why that particular music just happened to be playing when they were there. "We need to get her out of here!" he told the others sharply, and without waiting for a response, he took hold of Lisbon and gently pulled her toward the door. To his relief, she walked with him, though she did so as though she was in a trance. When they got outside - away from the music - Jane gently pushed Lisbon down to sit on a nearby bench.

"Jane, what's going on?" asked Rigsby. "What happened? What _is_ happening?"

"She's having a flashback," Jane replied, sitting down next to her and not shifting his gaze from her face even slightly. "There was music playing inside, and the piece made her think of Red John."

"How?" asked Van Pelt worriedly.

"Doesn't matter," Jane replied, half-listening. He had hoped that getting her away from the music would snap her out of it, but it hadn't. He shook her slightly. "Lisbon, hey, wake up," he said to her. When she didn't respond he tried snapping his fingers in front of her eyes several times. "Lisbon, snap out of it," he said.

No response.

He paused for a minute, his mind racing - this was _very_ bad, and he knew he had to act fast. Then, he turned back to his teammates and finished giving them the instructions Lisbon had been giving. "That's what she was going to tell you all to do," he said when they opened their mouths to question him and/or protest.

"And what will _you_ do?" asked Rigsby.

"I'm, uh…going to stay here and keep trying to get through to her," Jane replied hesitantly.

Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt all hesitated, clearly very worried about their boss and friend.

"There's nothing you guys can do right now to help except your jobs," Jane told them. "I'll take care of her, you just do what she wanted you to do."

The team still looked worried, but they turned and walked away without further protest.

Jane watched until they were out of sight. If worst came to worst, he had one desperate idea, and he didn't want them watching if it came to that. Once they were gone, he turned back to Lisbon and resumed trying to get through to her with words or movement. It was all to no avail, though; Lisbon was essentially dead to the world.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" he finally exclaimed, exasperated, and before he could second-guess himself, he quickly kissed her.

The effect was immediate. Lisbon groaned, and she started blinking, as though coming out of a deep sleep.

"Lisbon, look at me," Jane said gently, tilting her face toward him and meeting her eyes. "Hey. Look at me."

"…Jane?" Lisbon asked groggily.

Jane hugged her, relieved beyond words. "That's right, it's me, I'm here," he said softly. "You're okay."

"Wh…what happened?" Lisbon asked, still sounding half-asleep.

He pulled back so he could look in her eyes. "What do you remember?" he asked.

"I was instructing the team…and…then I realized that that damn music was playing…and then…I was here," she answered slowly.

"So you don't remember what was going on in your mind when you froze?" Jane asked again, serious.

Lisbon shook her head, but she didn't quite meet his gaze as she did so. "No," she said certainly. "I don't remember anything from when…did you say I froze?"

Jane nodded, deciding to believe her. "I think you were having a flashback," he answered. "You weren't seeing what was in front of you, and you weren't responding to…anything. You scared me a little, to be perfectly honest."

Lisbon closed her eyes. She had been lying - she knew what she had been seeing during her flashback. It had been just like the nightmares that had plagued her. Even now that she was present in the real world again, she could almost feel Red John there with her, in the back of her mind, forever owning her, destroying her…

"Will I ever be free of him?" she asked softly, speaking the question out loud for the first time.

"What do you mean?" Jane asked worriedly.

"He's…in my head," Lisbon said, sounding as though she was on the verge of tears. "I can almost feel him here…" She hugged herself, shaking, the facade she had been wearing all day finally falling away to reveal just how broken she was. "I…still hear him, sometimes…as though he's right next to me…his laugh…" She shuddered.

Unsure what to say, Jane put his left arm around her and took hold of her right hand with his. To his surprise (and concern), she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and he felt her relax slightly. This was a bad sign; the Lisbon he knew would have pushed him away.

He sighed. "Lisbon, you _will_ be free of him," he told her, managing to sound more confident than he felt. "It might take a while, but…I'm here for you, and I'll help you however I can until you're okay."

"I'm okay right now," she replied sleepily.

Jane raised his eyebrows. "Uh, Lisbon, I've got my arm around you, I'm holding your hand, and you're resting your head on my shoulder."

She lifted her head to look at him, her face a question mark.

Jane forced a teasing smile. "You're _not_ okay," he told her.

To his deep concern, her response was to smile back at him wordlessly, then lean against him again. He thought fast.

"Come on," he said, "let's go back to HQ. You shouldn't be in the field if things will trigger a flashback."

Lisbon chuckled, which only served to worry Jane even more. "This is a switch," she commented; "_you_ telling _me_ that _I_ shouldn't be in the field."

"Yeah, well, things aren't exactly normal right now," Jane muttered as they stood up. Jane took hold of Lisbon's hand as they walked to his car, and she squeezed his hand in turn - instead of pulling away, like she should have.

Jane said nothing, but he didn't think he could possibly be more worried.

~o~

Jane virtually chaperoned Lisbon to her office when they got back to HQ. She didn't seem to mind him keeping her close; on the contrary, Jane sometimes felt like she was gravitating to him slowly, wanting him closer for her own comfort. He hoped he wouldn't have to kiss her again, but he also knew that he probably would - traumatic memory image meant that Lisbon associated that touch, above all else, with being safe.

Of course.

Once Lisbon was settled at her desk, Jane looked around, trying to find Bertram - the director would need to know about this development, and Jane wanted to get it over with. When he spotted the man, he turned back to Lisbon.

"I, uh, I'm going to tell Bertram what happened," he told her. "Will you be okay if I leave you here?"

There was a time when Lisbon would have been extremely offended by such a question; now, she just swallowed hard and said in a slightly trembling voice, "I…I think so. Don't be too long, though, okay?"

Sorrow and pity welled in Jane's chest, almost overwhelming him. The worst part was that, really, it was his fault that she was like this - if she had never met him, Red John would never have come after her. Looking at Lisbon's broken, helpless face, Jane made a silent vow on the graves of his wife and daughter that he _would_ see Lisbon recover, no matter what he needed to do to that end.

He forced himself to turn away and approach Bertram, who happened to be passing by. The director was apparently as eager to talk to Jane as Jane was to talk to him.

"Jane," he said. "It's not like you to not be out in the field during a case." Was Jane imagining it, or was there a gleam in Bertram's eye that implied that he already knew what had happened?

In any case, he made a split-second decision to ignore it. "Yes," he said, "well, normally Lisbon would be doing her thing as well."

"And she's not now?" Bertram asked.

Jane sighed, then told Bertram in a few short, serious sentences what had happened.

"I see," Bertram said in a tone that almost implied the opposite of the words.

Jane hesitated, then said, "Listen, Bertram, I think I can help her…In any case, she needs me right now." Bertram got a look like he was about to express disapproval, but Jane quickly said, "I promise I won't take advantage of her being like this." He looked the director of the CBI directly in the eye, more serious than Bertram had ever seen him before, even during times when Red John had recently resurfaced. "I can, and will, be responsible, both for my own conduct, and for her health and well-being," he avowed. He gestured, showing his palms in submission. "No tricks," he promised. "No half-legal, iffy, problem-causing shortcuts to close cases; I swear I'll do my best without crossing any lines or pushing any boundaries, for as long as Lisbon needs me…but I need to know that in return, you will let me do whatever I need to to get her back together again. Can you promise me that…Gale?"

Bertram hesitated, clearly a bit put off by Jane's seriousness. "You want me to put you in charge of Lisbon?" he asked.

"Yes," Jane replied seriously. "I'm fairly sure I can help her, and I'm also fairly sure that no one and nothing else can. Look, I want things to go back to normal as much as you do," he confessed. "I want the Lisbon who can keep me…sort of under control, who can take charge and take care of herself and the rest of her team. I can make that happen, too, but it may at times take an amount of authority that I just don't have. I need you to give me this. For her." He sighed. "Please, Director Bertram," he pleaded.

Bertram was silent for a minute, then slowly nodded.

"Alright," he said; "I…_officially_ leave it up to you to get Agent Lisbon back on her feet." He pointed a finger at Jane and glared at him for emphasis. "Don't make me regret it."

"I won't," Jane vowed as Bertram walked away, not even making any wise-cracks, though about a dozen came to the tip of his tongue. He knew he had to be serious right now, for Lisbon's sake.

When he rejoined Lisbon in her office, she didn't ask what Bertram had said, only expressed relief that he was back, though he hadn't even been out of her sight. He told her about the deal he had made with Bertram anyway, and for the first time since Red John's game, he thought he saw a glimmer of hope in her broken green eyes.

~o~

The case went on, Lisbon and Jane working mostly from inside HQ, the rest of the team doing most of the fieldwork. Jane kept his promise to Bertram, acting with a restraint and degree of almost-professionalism that most people who knew him wouldn't have thought he was capable of, while also still using his skills to close the case with the finality only he could ensure. It was hard work for him to not make any messes - much harder than he would ever let on, even - but he still managed to close the case in the end, as he always did.

Lisbon, of course, still had to finalize the paperwork and so on after the case was closed; Jane pulled a chair over and sat beside her while she worked into the night. He was reluctant to bring it up, but he was afraid of what she would do when she was done - when she would go home, to where she was taken, coming from CBI HQ for the first time since Red John had taken her.

When Lisbon sighed and put down her pen, Jane knew that she was completely spent and could do no more, even if there was more to do…and that meant it was time to go.

"You okay?" he asked gently, speaking for the first time since they had sat down.

She looked at him, and again, Jane could see just how broken the person behind those green eyes was - so much so that his friend was only barely visible there, even to him.

"No," she said softly.

Jane sighed, his heart breaking. He sat back held out his arms.

"Come here," he said.

Lisbon looked at him and hesitated for only a moment before getting out of her chair and lying on top of him. He hugged her, trying to comfort her as best he could. He said nothing, letting her take her time.

~o~

While Jane and Lisbon were positioned thus, the rest of the team approached Lisbon's office to offer their own support; they stopped short when they saw what was inside.

"Are they-?" Rigsby started to ask.

"No, he's just holding her," Cho said.

"Still, the fact that she's even letting herself be held like that…" Van Pelt shook her head; there were no words.

"Yeah, Red John really did a number on her," Cho agreed.

"I wish there was something _we_ could do," Rigsby said.

There was silence between the three friends for a minute. Then, Van Pelt stepped forward and turned around to face the two men.

"There is," she told them: "We can do our jobs."

Cho nodded, but Rigsby blinked, not understanding.

"More than anything else, she needs normalcy," Van Pelt explained. "She's our boss, and our job is to follow her orders; she needs that now."

"What Jane's doing for her is hardly normal," Rigsby pointed out, half protesting.

"Well, Jane can help her in ways we can't," Cho stated; "same as when she was abducted."

Rigsby nodded, conceding. "Yeah, I know," he sighed. "You're killing me, but you're right. I guess we just have to…sit back and hope…"

The three were silent for another minute.

"We should go," Van Pelt finally said.

The other two agreed and, with one last sympathetic glance at their boss and friend, they turned and left.

~o~

"I want to tell you what happened."

Lisbon's murmur broke the silence.

"What do you mean?" Jane asked, still holding her.

"He told me things…" Lisbon said. "He…did things…I want to tell you what happened to me."

"No, Lisbon," Jane said, gently but firmly, "don't do that. You shouldn't have to relive it - bad enough that you had to go through it once."

"My therapist tried to get me to tell, but I didn't trust him enough," Lisbon said.

"Meh, therapists," Jane scoffed, expressing his familiar old distaste for such things.

Lisbon chuckled slightly, and Jane smiled, slightly relieved.

"I don't want to hear what happened to you, Lisbon," he said after a minute. "I don't want you to recount it to me, or anyone else for that matter - it needs to be left in the past. But I'm here for you, whatever else you may need."

There was silence for a moment. Then Lisbon said softly, "Will you come home with me?"

Jane had been expecting the question, but he pretended not to have been. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Getting home…is gonna be hell," Lisbon said, her voice starting to crack; Jane hugged her a little tighter. "Last time I went home from here…"

"I know," Jane said.

"I…I'll need your help to get through it," she said.

That she was asking for help at all was so very unlike her, and Jane appreciated that fact better than anyone else possibly could. He knew it meant that she truly _needed_ the help she was asking for - that she literally couldn't go without it.

"Okay," he said. He half pushed, half helped her to her feet and stood up himself, his arms still loosely around her. "Come on," he murmured, helping her, "let's get you home."

"Thanks…" she said weakly as he shepherded her outside.

~o~

Getting Lisbon home that night was a chore, if one Jane was more than willing to perform. He followed her home in his car, parked right beside her, then got out and opened her door for her, keeping her close as she got out, into the parking garage where Red John had ambushed her. She was shaking so badly that she was barely able to lock her car, and Jane had to hold her in a tight embrace, her face buried in his chest, and slowly walk her out, all the way back to her apartment. He murmured that they were there when they arrived, and Lisbon had to force herself to pull away from him long enough to unlock her door.

Once they were inside, Lisbon's demeanor didn't relax even slightly, not even when she locked the door behind them. Jane took a quick look around her apartment, and he noticed right away.

"Lisbon?" he asked.

"Hm?" she responded.

He took one last quick glance around, then turned to her and asked, "If I were to search your apartment thoroughly, would I find anything even slightly reddish, anywhere?"

"I hope not," Lisbon said, her voice timid and shaking. "I went through everything almost as soon as I got home."

"To get rid of everything red," Jane half-asked.

Lisbon nodded. "Yes."

"Lisbon…" He didn't know what to say. What _could_ he say? That she was traumatized so badly that the color red alone scared her…

"It's the color of death," she said.

"Because it's part of Red John's name?" Jane asked.

"No," Lisbon replied; "that's _why_ it's part of his name. That's why he named himself that. He told me-"

"I don't want to hear what he told you," Jane said firmly, cutting her off.

Lisbon closed her mouth and was still. She looked at the floor, her affect submissive and broken.

Jane could barely stand the sight.

"Hey," he murmured, stepping closer and putting his arms around her. She leaned into him, as he by now expected that she would…He made a mental note to pay careful attention to her responses to physical contact with him - if she started pulling away, it would mean that she was recovering, and he would need to encourage that as much as possible without actively pushing her away himself. It was a fine line he would have to tread, he knew…

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

Jane tensed, looking at the door as though he could see through it and discern who was there. Lisbon, on the other hand, stepped away from him and went to open the door without hesitation, oddly enough - it happened so fast, Jane didn't have time to ask why she wasn't worried before the door had opened.

"Hey," Lisbon said to the person at the door.

"Hi," said a sandy-haired young man Jane had never seen before. "You're home."

"Yeah, but you don't need to babysit me tonight," Lisbon said, and she opened the door a bit wider and gestured to Jane, who was standing stock-still, frozen with sheer confusion. "Jane's here."

"You're Patrick Jane?" the young man asked, stepping through the doorway and holding out his hand to Jane.

"Uh, yes," Jane said, still slightly shocked; he shook the young man's hand purely on reflex.

The young man smiled. "I'm glad you're here," he said. "Teresa's told me a little bit about you…You were the one who rescued her, yeah?"

"Uh, yes, yes I was," Jane confirmed. "Um…Who are you, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Oh! I'm Sam," the young man said, and he made a vague gesture towards the door. "I'm one of Teresa's neighbors."

"He's been helping me get through the nights since I got home," Lisbon explained to Jane, walking over to join them. "I've…" She hesitated.

Jane and Sam said nothing.

"I've been having nightmares," Lisbon said at last. "Sam's been staying over and waking me up when need be."

"Nightmares?" Jane repeated, looking at Lisbon closely.

She closed her eyes and nodded wordlessly.

"Ah." Understanding came to Jane, clear and strong. He turned to Sam. "Well, thank you for looking after her while I couldn't," he said sincerely. "I've got things covered now, though."

"Oh, I'm sure you do!" Sam said, smiling. "I'm glad you're here for her now." He turned to Lisbon. "Good night, Teresa," he said.

"Good night, Sam," Lisbon said, forcing a faint smile in return. "Thank you for all your help."

"Yeah, no, my pleasure," Sam said, turning to go. "Take care."

"You too," Lisbon said, closing the door behind him and locking it.

Jane and Lisbon were still as Sam's footsteps faded.

"You've had him stay over since you came home?" Jane finally asked.

Lisbon gave a hysterical half-laugh, half-sob. "Not by choice," she said. She looked at Jane. "The first time I had my nightmare, I was alone…well, I _was_, until a bunch of people from nearby apartments banded together and broke my door down. They said I was screaming so loudly that they were all worried something was happening to me." She smiled faintly, the expression not meeting her eyes at all. "Most of them were pretty annoyed when they found out I was just dreaming. Sam was…the only good samaritan. He offered to stay and help me - wake me up if I started having my nightmare again." She closed her eyes. "He's had to wake me up several times every night since I've been home," she said tonelessly.

"Oh, Lisbon…" Not having words, Jane walked over to her and hugged her again; again, she leaned into him, relaxing ever-so-slightly.

Neither of them moved for a minute.

"I'm glad you've had someone looking after you all this time, while I couldn't," Jane said at last. "I promise, I'll do my best to help you however I can now that I'm here."

"With you here, I…might not have nightmares anymore at all," Lisbon said softly. "I don't know for sure, but I'm hoping…"

"Yeah," Jane said, hugger her a bit more tightly. "Me too."

Again, there was silence.

"Well…" Jane said at last. "You should…get ready for bed. What do you do…?"

"Oh, uh, I just need to take a shower," Lisbon said quickly.

"Alright," Jane said, and they both started walking to the stairs. He hesitated, then smiled and said, "I, uh, I hope you don't need me to watch you do _that_-"

"_No_!" Lisbon exclaimed with a flinch, her eyes wide.

Jane blinked; he had been trying to make a joke, and her response was a lot more fearful than he had expected.

"No," Lisbon repeated, more softly now. "I…I don't want you to see…" She turned away, almost ashamedly.

"See…what?" Jane asked.

Lisbon just hugged herself, rubbing her arms as though fighting goosebumps.

Suddenly, Jane remembered just exactly what she'd been through, and that the scars that the ordeal had left her with weren't all in her head.

"Oh," he said softly. He hesitated, then put a hand on her shoulder.

She turned to him, her eyes glistening.

"I'm sorry," he said, "please forgive me; I…forgot, for a moment, what…what you've been through. I…I meant nothing by it, I was just…joking…rather tastelessly, I admit-"

"Jane."

Jane stopped.

Lisbon nodded slowly. "It's okay," she said.

Jane nodded back. "Okay," he said.

There was nothing more to say. They went upstairs, and Lisbon left Jane at her bathroom door. Jane waited patiently, trying not to think about what Lisbon had been forced to endure because of him.

~o~

When she was clean, Lisbon went to her bedroom while Jane's back was turned; even in comfortable clothes, she didn't want him to see her because of the scars that covered her body. When she was settled in bed, Jane laid down on the floor, but he didn't even get a chance to close his eyes before Lisbon spoke up.

"Jane?"

"Yes Lisbon?" he asked, sitting up.

"Could you…please…be closer?" Lisbon asked, extremely hesitant but equally desperate.

Jane thought fast, not moving for a moment. The truth was, he very much didn't want to get in bed with Lisbon; though he understood that her need was akin to a little girl who needed to sleep with her daddy because she was afraid of the dark, not of romantic intent, even that idea caused him a great deal of discomfort.

_Well, she's been through a lot more than 'a great deal of discomfort',_ said a voice in his head that rarely spoke, but to which he listened when it did; _quit thinking about yourself and what _you're_ comfortable with and do what _she_ needs you to do in order to get some rest. It's your fault this happened to her in the first place; the least you can do is help her get better._

Jane couldn't deny the words of what he assumed was his conscience. He stood, kicked off his shoes, and forced himself to lie down on Lisbon's bed. He didn't get in - that would have been far, _far_ too much, even fully clothed; as it was, he doubted he would sleep. But Lisbon needed him, and he had no good excuse not to do what she needed.

"Okay, I'm here," he said; "will you be okay?" He prayed she would say yes.

Just as well that he didn't believe in prayer anyway. "I…" Lisbon hesitated, swallowed very audibly, then said, "I'd feel better if you were closer."

"Lisbon-"

"I just-!" She stopped, apparently hesitant to finish her sentence. Jane was silent, letting her take her time. At last, she said softly, "I just…need to know you're there."

Jane stifled a sigh. _It's my fault, not hers,_ he reminded himself, and he moved closer so that he was curled around her, one arm over her in half an embrace. Two sets of clothes and Lisbon's sheets were all that separated them now.

"That good?" Jane asked.

"Um…Honestly, I'd feel better if you were closer, but…yeah, this is okay," Lisbon said, much to Jane's relief.

"Alright." Jane knew he would not sleep a wink. Still, if that meant that Lisbon would get a good night's sleep for the first time in many weeks, it wasn't too big of a sacrifice. Besides, he rarely got much sleep even on the best of nights - the difference wasn't _that_ great.

Still…

"Lisbon…" Jane sighed, trying not to disturb her hair with his breath.

"Mmm?" she responded sleepily.

Jane hesitated, then told her, "I'm here for you now, because I know you need me to be…but I won't do this for one moment longer than I have to."

"What do you mean?" Lisbon asked, rousing slightly, a hint of panic creeping into her voice.

"Shh, don't worry," Jane said, stroking her arm through her sheets until he felt her tension ease. "I'm here as long as you need me. But I'm going to tell you right now, as soon as you think you can handle me not being right here, I need you to speak up. My goal is for you to get better, Lisbon, and that means that you'll have to ease yourself off your dependance on me." He felt her get tense again, and again he stroked her arm. "Don't push yourself," he told her softly; "you've been through a lot, it's okay that you need help. But if you get to a point where you think you'll be comfortable with me backing off, even just a little bit, let me know so we can move forward."

"I don't think I'll ever be okay again," Lisbon said softly.

"I know you feel that way now," Jane said, her words a knife in his heart, "but you're strong, Lisbon, I know you are, and I know you can beat this. Take your time, don't push yourself, but when you're ready, tell me."

"…Okay," Lisbon said. "If I…ever feel like I'll be okay, I'll…I'll let you know."

"Okay," Jane said softly. "Good night, Lisbon."

"Good night, Jane," she said, and he felt her slowly relax again. After a couple of minutes, she was asleep.

On the other hand, as he had expected, Jane couldn't sleep at all, not curled around his best friend on her bed like this - even the sheets between them did little to ease his discomfort. It felt awkward, and so very wrong…

_She needs me here,_ he reminded himself over and over as the night slowly crept by. _Only as long as she needs me here, I'll be here for her. It won't stay this way, but right now, she needs this._

_…It's my fault that she needs this. I have to do whatever it takes to get her better. Whatever it takes…_


	3. Brave Heart, Part 2

Three months passed with no change.

Three. Months.

It wasn't that Lisbon didn't want to get back to her life, but she was broken. She was barely able to do her job, and there was almost no way to predict what would push her to her limit or trigger a flashback; it wasn't long before the flashbacks became so frequent that Jane and Bertram agreed that she needed to stay out of the field entirely until further notice, and even that didn't completely stop them from happening. Even when she wasn't buried in a flashback, her affect was timid and fearful, and she had trouble even making eye contact, tending to stare at the floor - a far cry from the tough-as-nails, no-nonsense senior agent who had led the team for so long.

Everyone secretly feared that Lisbon would never recover from what had happened to her, and really, no one could blame her, either. No one knew exactly what she had been through, since Jane forbade her to talk about it ever, but they all knew she had endured unspeakable atrocities, and though she was well-known for her strength, there was only so much any human being could possibly take before the damage became irreversible.

Whenever she had a flashback, nothing other than a kiss from Jane could get her to snap out of it. Jane hated this, but it couldn't be helped. He hadn't thought it would become so important when he had acted out of desperation to get her to stop struggling so he could save her, but it _had_ been, after all, that precise action, at that moment, that had given meaning to the word "life" for Lisbon again. The touch meant nothing other than that she was safe - _absolutely nothing_ - but that was a lot when Lisbon was still living with her nightmares.

She didn't have her nightmare at night anymore, not since Jane had started sleeping with her. This was more than enough reason for Jane to force himself into the uncomfortable position night after night, though he rarely got a wink of sleep, and those few winks only when he was too fatigued to register his own discomfort. He resisted asking Lisbon if she could handle him backing off even slightly, though - he had to trust she would speak up when she was ready, and on top of that, he could see, more and more clearly every day, just how very broken she was, and how badly she needed his help, and he hated himself for knowing that her pain was his fault.

Between Lisbon needing to stay in the office and Jane's responsibility for her and the terms on which Bertram had granted him that responsibility, cases went by almost agonizingly slowly. Rigsby, Cho, and especially Van Pelt did their best to take on what Jane and Lisbon both had to sacrifice doing as well as perform their regular duties, but it was rough going. After a few such cases, Bertram finally relented and started going easy on the team, giving them less complicated and drastic assignments.

Though there was no significant change for the first three months, Jane thought - though it could easily have been wishful thinking, as he constantly reminded himself - that Lisbon was maybe getting a bit more comfortable in her daily routine. Was she making eye contact with people a bit more? Was her voice coming a bit stronger when she gave directions? Was her walk as she moved through HQ a little bit more confident, a little bit more relaxed? Was she getting a little bit more insightful, a little bit better at connecting dots when it came to solving cases? Jane couldn't be sure, but he thought maybe so. He didn't bring it up, for fear of making Lisbon feel pressured - or worse, being completely wrong - but he couldn't let go of the hope that maybe, just maybe, ever so slowly, she was getting better…

Then, after three months, one night after a case, Lisbon finally revealed to Jane part of what she was struggling with.

He had just taken her home, again. She locked her door…then stilled. Jane noticed her sudden change.

"Lisbon?" he asked gently.

She didn't move.

He stepped closer to her. "You okay?" he asked, worried.

She hesitated, then slowly looked at him. "I…"

"Hey," Jane began, and he reached out to her.

To his surprise, she recoiled away from him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, alarmed; her expression told him that her pulling away was in no way a sign of her getting better.

She was silent for a minute. Then she sighed, looked away, and said, almost too softly for him to hear,

"Red John…thinks I'm in love with you."

Jane had no idea what to say to that. He couldn't honestly say he didn't believe that himself, though he had never thought he would have to acknowledge it. Even before Red John had taken her, he'd tried to pretend that either she didn't have feelings for him like that or that it didn't matter if she did, and for the most part to not think about it at all. Now, it had been said aloud, under already-trying circumstances, and Jane didn't know how to respond.

When a minute had passed and Lisbon hadn't moved or spoken any further, Jane knew he had to say something. He took a breath, then said the first thing that came to his tongue:

"Are you?"

Lisbon closed her eyes and shook her head slightly, sadly. "The first time he said it…I remember laughing, thinking that it was…the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard," she said, ever so slowly, ever so softly.

Jane was silent, almost afraid to breathe too loudly. Yes, that sounded like Lisbon - absolute and total denial, even reflexive amusement to reinforce it - but he heard a "but" at the end of this statement, and that scared him.

"But now, I…I just don't know," she went on, her voice cracking. "Part of me feels like I am…but I don't know if…if that's really _me_, or…if it's just…him…his influence…in my head…" A tear ran down her cheek as she looked up to meet Jane's eyes and said in a broken voice, half-crying, "I don't know if my thoughts or feelings are even my own anymore."

This was far worse than what Jane had feared was coming. "Oh, Lisbon…" he whispered, tears coming to his own eyes now. He fought them back - he was good at that, he'd had a lot of practice, and seeing him cry wouldn't help her.

But she wouldn't have seen; she just closed her eyes and turned away from him again. He reached out to touch her - three months had made it almost automatic, taken for granted that his touch was comforting to her - but quickly thought better of it and pulled his hand back. He searched his mind for something even slightly comforting or helpful that he could say, but after a whole minute, all he could come up with was,

"Well, I can't tell you if you are or not, that's something you have to figure out for yourself…and you _will_ figure it out."

She turned to him again, her eyes wide.

"Any thoughts or feelings in your mind that you aren't sure of right now, you _will_ figure out whether or not they're yours, and if they're not, you'll get rid of them," Jane went on, doing his best to sound completely confident in what he was saying. He hesitated a moment, then added, "Whether they are or not, though, you don't have to act on them either way."

Her expression became confused.

"No one says what you have to think about or feel, or if you have to do anything about it," Jane said, getting the feeling that he was starting to dig himself into a hole. "In fact, it's really best not to think about things that would only…complicate things, or make them worse."

And suddenly, amazingly, Lisbon smiled. "Like you?" she asked, almost teasingly.

The semi-joke was so unexpected - and so _Lisbon_ - that Jane felt a surge of relief so strong it made him give a laugh. "Well, not all the time," he amended, smiling back.

Their smiles held for a moment. Somehow, miraculously, he had said the right thing, and they were talking like they used to before Red John's game, if only for that moment in time. Jane felt hope then, like he hadn't felt since he'd heard the doctors in the hospital declare that Lisbon wouldn't die from her injuries or the other abuse she had endured.

Then Lisbon's face fell, she closed her eyes, and the moment passed. _But it _did_ happen,_ Jane thought to himself firmly, _and that means that this isn't a lost cause. Lisbon's still in there._

_…She's still in there._

And only then did he admit to himself that he had ever had doubts about that fact to begin with.

But there was still one more development to be had before the night was over.

When they were in bed, Jane curled around Lisbon uncomfortably as always, after they said good night, Lisbon was silent for a minute, then said, "Jane?"

"Yes, Lisbon?" Jane asked, trying not to hope anything at all.

"I…I think I might be able to sleep if you're not quite so close," she said hesitantly.

Jane's eyes widened.

"I still need you here," she said quickly, before he could respond. "I still need to know you're here. But I think I might be okay if you're not…_right_ here."

Jane processed this; she sounded nervous, and he was still slightly worried that she wasn't ready, but he needed to encourage her. Without a word, he moved away from her slightly, onto the other side of the bed, keeping his hand reached out and resting on her arm - giving her about as much space as he could while still touching her so that she would know he really was there, even in her sleep.

"Is this okay?" he asked.

Lisbon took a breath, and he could feel through her arm that she was tense, even through the sheets. But she said, "Yes…I…I think so."

"Are you sure?" Jane wanted her to not need him anymore, but given how long this had been in coming, and how bad her flashbacks and such still were, he needed her to be absolutely sure - he didn't want her to push herself beyond her limits, actually afraid of what might become of her if she did.

Lisbon hesitated before saying, "Yeah."

Jane debated whether or not to argue with her more…but in truth, he was too tired to protest any further.

"Okay," he said, and he closed his eyes and allowed himself to hope, for just a moment, that this really was the beginning of true recovery. "Good night, Lisbon."

"Good night, Jane."

While sleeping on Lisbon's bed while she was in it was still uncomfortable, the space between them now made Jane feel a bit better…just enough to allow him to sleep, too.

~o~

_Well, well, well…_

Red John sat back, utterly perplexed. It was rare for him to find himself in a situation where he wasn't entirely sure what the hell was going on - unheard of, even - but the night's events had him utterly confused.

At first, it had seemed that Saint Teresa was breaking even further…but then, she indicated that she was _less_ in need of help. _How can that be?_ Red John wondered, almost frightened by the fact that he - even _he_, impossibly brilliant and powerful as he was - had no answer. _For that matter, how can she be recovering at _all_, never mind after that little breakdown? I _destroyed_ her…there should be nothing left, nothing at all!_ It wasn't that this was what he _wanted_ - on the contrary, her being broken meant he couldn't kill - but it was just the way it _was_.

Wasn't it?

_Can a person really be _that_ strong, that they could recover from _me_?_ he wondered. _Is she really _that_ resilient? How can she be? I _know_ what I did to her. There should not _be_ a Teresa Lisbon, or at least not as she formerly was…_

But somehow, impossibly, Teresa Lisbon was still in there - broken and buried, yes, but somehow not completely annihilated.

Never before had Red John experienced a moment where he found himself questioning anything he had once believed he knew. Now, though, he had to wonder if, somehow, he had been…_wrong_. Was there something about the human spirit that couldn't be broken, at least not by anything other than death? Or was Saint Teresa just…special?

He had no way of knowing, no way of finding out. Not knowing something, knowing that he _couldn't_ know something, was very unpleasant…he had never thought he would be in such a position, ever. But here he was. And here _she_ was. And somehow, she was getting better.

Impossible.

But she _was_.

At last, Red John had to concede and take (shudder!) his Old Friend's advice: He decided not to dwell on something that he couldn't puzzle out and which would only make him uncomfortable. Instead, he decided to focus on the sole positive aspect of this, on the one thing he hadn't dared hope for because of what he had formerly believed:

_I will get to kill again. This is not the end of Red John. My name will _always_ strike fear into the hearts of any who hear it._

_Fresh, innocent blood…I can almost taste it already…_

And he smiled.

~o~

Jane didn't bring up Lisbon's tiny bit of progress with anyone else, even Bertram, the next day - he was too worried that it was so small that even a little push might ruin it. It was only a week later, though, that Lisbon expressed that she would be comfortable with him near her even if he wasn't really touching her at all, and a week after that, Jane was relieved to finally be able to sleep on the floor and leave the entirety of her bed to her. She started having fewer flashbacks - though she still had one or two every case - and her improvement at work started to become noticeable even to the rest of the team. Even then, though, Jane played down her improvements when talking to anyone else about her, and he still made use of his temporary authority over her to limit her as much as he could, afraid that she might get too sure of herself and do something that would ultimately push her too hard.

The reality was, over the course of the first three months he had spent babysitting her, Jane had started to feel rather protective of Lisbon, almost the same as she had once felt towards him. She had endured so much, and it was all his fault, for so many reasons…He wanted to make sure she didn't get hurt again, _ever_. Even when she started asking to go out in the field or do anything more potentially hazardous than deskwork, Jane was reluctant to let her, even found himself holding her back at times. He didn't realize it, but despite what he had told Bertram before, in truth, he didn't want his official responsibility for Lisbon to end - as long as he could tell her what she could or couldn't do, she would be safe, and the thought of any more harm coming to her, under any circumstances, was just unbearable.

It was almost as though it had been Charlotte Jane, his daughter, that he had rescued, not his boss. He hadn't been able to stop Red John from doing what he had done to Jane's family, but he _had_ been able to keep him from killing Lisbon. Lisbon was the only thing Jane had been able to pull out of Red John's hands, the only thing he hadn't lost to that monster, close as it had come, and he didn't want to let it go.

Just like he couldn't let his family go.

By some fortunate twist of fate, however, this borderline overprotectiveness eventually started to annoy Lisbon, sparking a bit of her old "fire" and actually helping her recovery. She started _wanting_ to push herself, _wanting_ to get back to the old normalcy that Jane himself didn't want so much anymore.

Not that she wasn't still badly damaged - every case, Jane found at least one excuse to remind her that she still needed help, needed to be protected and taken care of, specifically by him. On the other hand, it became more and more obvious that he was _looking_ for such excuses, and it started to reach a point where Rigsby or Van Pelt would occasionally mention that maybe he was being overprotective; because Bertram had given Jane official authority on the matter, however, his word was final.

And throughout it all, Red John sat back and watched the whole process, both confused and…somehow intrigued…by the way Lisbon was recovering from the things he had done to her.

~o~

It was a little past six months after Lisbon returned to work that she finally managed to convince Jane to let her sleep in her room alone. It took ten minutes of arguing before Jane had to admit that she was ready for such a big step, but at last, he conceded, though he still didn't like it.

"I will be right downstairs," he told her; "if you need me, call, and I will come running."

Lisbon nodded. "I'll probably shout if I start having nightmares, and if I don't, then I won't need you, so that works." she said.

"You're sure?" Jane asked for the trillionth time.

Lisbon didn't roll her eyes, like she would have at one time, but she also didn't bother answering. "Good night, Jane," she said instead, not sounding as annoyed as she could have been.

"Night, Lisbon," Jane said. He hesitated for one more moment, then turned and went downstairs, leaving her to wash up and get ready for bed, and made himself comfortable on her couch.

He _did_ feel better about resting now that he didn't even have to hear someone else sleeping near him; that alone had been…just uncomfortable. Now, though, he felt like everything was perfect - he was close enough to Lisbon that he could be there for her right away if she needed him, and there was no reason for him to feel uncomfortable about sleeping.

He quickly fell into a doze.

About an hour later, Jane's cell phone vibrated, waking him. He didn't recognize his surroundings for a moment, and he blinked and looked around in confusion before remembering where he was. After he remembered, he sat up.

_Who could possibly be calling me late at night?_ he wondered. _The only person who would_ ever_ call me at this hour is Lisbon, and she could just shout for me to come in person…_

He didn't bother looking at the caller ID before answering - he was still a bit groggy, truth be told. "Hello?" he asked.

"Good evening, Old Friend," said a dark voice that was all too familiar by now.

Jane's eyes widened, and he sat a bit straighter. "Red John."

"The one and only," Red John said proudly, and Jane had to fight both the urge to roll his eyes and the urge to throw up.

_Breathe,_ Jane told himself. "What do you want?" he asked, lowering his voice.

"To congratulate you," Red John answered.

"What?"

"By some miracle, your idiotic caretaking of Saint Teresa has helped her start down a road to recovery I never imagined was even open to her," Red John drawled; "tonight, for the first time, I can contact you without her even knowing about it. Well done."

"Why are you calling me?" Jane demanded.

"Hush, Old Friend, you don't want to wake My Dear Little Saint," Red John taunted.

"She's not 'your' _anything_!" Jane snapped, working to keep his voice down all the same.

"Oh, but she _is_," Red John purred. "She's my victim - the only one ever to live to tell the tale…if only you would _let_ her," he added pointedly.

"I'm not going to let her live through whatever you did to her more than once," Jane said.

Red John laughed. "Keep telling yourself that, and that the reality _isn't_ that you're just too guilty for you to bear that all her suffering was _your fault_…"

"Shut up!" Jane hissed.

More laughter. "What if I told her something useful?" he goaded. "What if I told her something you want, or need, to know?"

"I don't need to know what you did to her!" Jane snarled. "If there's something you want to tell me, I'm all ears, but from _your_ mouth, not hers!"

"You stupid old fool," Red John said.

"You sick bastard," Jane countered.

Red John gave a long-suffering sigh. "Old Friend, I am neither sick, nor a bastard," he said; "as you would know, if you would let Teresa tell her tale…"

"Why don't _you_ tell me?" Jane demanded. "Huh? Or are you just going to mock me all night?"

"I was considering it," Red John said casually. "Mocking you is fun, after all, and I really _am_ bored." He paused for a beat, then asked, "Do you know why I had to take such drastic measures as abducting sweet Saint Teresa in the first place?"

"Why?"

"Because I was getting _bored_ of our usual games," Red John replied. "The little skirmishes between my people and your…erm…_allies_, that we had so often were starting to _bore_ me. I had to step it up a bit."

"From killing random women and sending your little pets after me to kidnapping and torturing Lisbon with your own two hands," Jane said mockingly; "wow, you really know how to pace yourself."

Red John laughed hard at this. "I _had_ an intermediate step planned," he jeered; "unfortunately, Craig went and got cold feet, so he had to die in a blaze of glory and leave me without any blood to enjoy for myself, the fool."

"Craig O'Laughlin," Jane said, making it only half a question. He thought for a minute, then asked, "What were you planning to do with him?"

"Oh, come now," Red John said mockingly, "do you _really_ have to ask? Does it not strike you as a rather eerie coincidence that a handsome young man with connections to Agent Grace Van Pelt's family - some common ground for them to start on - just _happened_ to crash into her car, and also just _happened_ to be one of my friends?" Jane felt a chill, and Red John laughed again. "I was going to enjoy their wedding night _very_ _much_," he said wickedly.

"You had him target Van Pelt," Jane said, again having to fight the urge to be sick.

"I wanted to have someone you were close to…_again_," Red John said nastily. "You know, just to remind you of old times. Unfortunately, as I said, Craig got cold feet, and had to ask for a change of plans."

"Why would you change your plans just because he asked you to?" Jane asked.

"I don't go against my friends' wishes, ever," Red John replied; "you would know that, if you let Teresa tell you-"

"I am _not_ going to have her tell me what you did to her," Jane snapped.

"Suit yourself, you old fool," Red John said, and Jane could almost see him shrug. "In any case, it just goes to show, if you want something done properly, you have to do it yourself, isn't that right, Old Friend? So I did, with Teresa."

"How considerate of you to do your dirty work yourself for a change," Jane said sarcastically.

"For a change?" Red John repeated. "I do my own dirty work plenty of the time - I only use a proxy when circumstances make it more convenient. Your lovely wife could tell you that."

The words were like a punch to Jane's gut; his fingers tightened around his phone. "Don't you dare talk about my wife," he heard himself snarl.

"Don't you want to talk about her with me?" Red John asked, his voice dripping with mockery. "I was present for her last moments of life-"

"I know you were!" Jane spat.

"Yes," Red John purred; "and where were _you_?"

Jane's eyes widened, and he wasn't able to speak.

"Where were you as I cut, and stabbed, and tortured her?" Red John asked, his voice a taunting hiss. "Where were you, as I spilled her blood, partook of her flesh? Where were you, as her life ebbed slowly away-?"

"Shut up!" The tortured cry was wrenched from Jane's throat against his will.

Red John was silent for a moment. Then he asked, softly, cruelly, "Where were you…when she needed you the most?"

Jane couldn't respond. A whole minute passed in silence.

"That's right," Red John said at last; "you were entertaining a crowd, telling pretty lies and listening to them cheer for you, gorging both your ego and your pockets, without a care in the world, and not a single thought for the family you had left all alone in your home."

Jane fought not to cry, his eyes screwed shut, but didn't protest; it was true, after all.

"I can't say I entirely blame you, Old Friend," Red John continued after a moment. "I, too, know the thrill of telling pretty lies to a crowd and having them praise and worship me. But you see, _I_ still get to do that, and _you_…well, don't. And you have no one to blame but yourself."

Jane forced himself to breathe. "Shut…up," he repeated softly.

"_Make_ me," Red John sneered. "_Make_ me shut up, you stupid, pathetic, brainless little-"

With tremendous effort, Jane wrenched the phone away from his ear and hung up.

For several minutes, Jane didn't move.

He truly couldn't remember when the last time the old wounds Red John had left him with when he'd murdered his family felt so raw, so fresh, had been…He thought that if he so much as moved, he might break.

And he couldn't afford that. Not when Lisbon was right upstairs and just as broken, if not more so.

But there's only so much any human being can take…and as the minutes ticked by, Jane slowly curled in on himself, fell to his side on the couch, and started quietly weeping, just barely strong enough to keep quiet so Lisbon wouldn't hear.

~o~

Red John smiled as he set down his own cell phone. He hadn't had a word prepared after "little" - he had known the idiot would hang up then.

Just over nine months of no blood, no mayhem…maybe he'd been a bit hard on the fool, but after not causing any pain or suffering anywhere for so long, who could blame him? _Perhaps I'm a bit more addicted to cruelty than I thought,_ he admitted to himself.

A minute after this thought crossed his mind, he groaned and put his hand over his face.

Something else he would have to rethink.

Then Jane started crying, and all of Red John's troubles fell away. He sat back, relaxed, and listened to the sound, barely audible though it was, drinking in the sight of Patrick Jane, curled up into a pathetic little ball on his boss's couch, weeping.

_Beautiful._


	4. Brave Heart, Part 3

Red John didn't call Jane ever again, though Jane half expected him to. Jane didn't tell Lisbon about the call - there was no need to upset or worry her when she had her own troubles - and he kept it from everyone else as well.

The call did do one thing, though: It reminded Jane of just how powerful Red John was. He could spy on anyone, see and hear anything, anywhere, with no need to plant bugs or tap phone lines. Jane couldn't help wondering, every moment of every day, if Red John was watching him at that very moment, following him as he stood by Lisbon's side as she worked or instructed the rest of the team on what he would do himself if he had the freedom to. He wondered if Lisbon knew about Red John's power, and if she ever wondered if Red John was watching, too, but he didn't ask, just in case it wasn't on her mind.

As it so happened, despite having a much more thorough knowledge of Red John's power than Jane, it _wasn't_ on her mind, at least not most of the time. Her own worries were based more on when the next time a crime scene they were assigned to would be Red John's work; despite his promise, she didn't trust him to just quit his life as a serial killer while she recovered, as it had already been many months and would probably be many more. She became marginally more worried about this with every day, every case, that passed them by, but there was no sign of him. There weren't even any cases of Red John copycats, though he _was_ the sort of serial killer who tended to inspire such things.

As Lisbon got stronger, she started being able to resist flashbacks on her own, though fighting them down before they engulfed her was far from easy, and she didn't always succeed. In any case, she did finally start to feel like she had some control over her life again, like she was finally getting the upper hand in her struggle with her trauma. Jane, conversely, became more and more protective and overbearing, working harder to limit her the harder she tried to get back to her life. His fears were far from groundless, but Lisbon was starting to fight him, and that, in the end, was a good thing.

After only a month more, Lisbon managed to convince Jane that she only needed him to get her home every night, but she didn't need him to stay with her. Really, the parking garage she stopped in every night was the worst thing she had to face in her life now, even worse than solving murders, but once she got home, she felt…not really _safe_, but not afraid, either. Jane finally agreed to let her stay in her apartment alone, but he insisted on quickly kissing her before leaving every night; he had revived her from so many flashbacks, it had stopped feeling wrong, and Lisbon even admitted that it made her feel much better even when she wasn't completely out of it. She _did_ mention that every night _might_ be going a little over the top, but Jane didn't feel comfortable leaving her by herself without it, and, very tellingly, she didn't argue.

~o~

The day came when a very simple case came to Lisbon's desk, like so many of the cases they closed nowadays while she got back on her feet were, and she got a chance to rebel. It was a murder case, as they still mostly were, of a young woman, but evidence was plentiful, suspects few, and alibis easily checked out - open and shut, unless a surprise was waiting, which it turned out not to be.

Rigsby and Van Pelt rounded up suspects, Cho conducted the interrogations, and Jane and Lisbon stood back and watched. Jane gave his input when he felt like it, and one man in particular - Harold Jason - struck him as dishonest, as well as very prone to violence. Instead of playing games, Jane was direct about this, and the suspect's alibi - that he had been at work - was easily checked; all they needed was surveillance footage that the company he worked for could easily provide.

Jane wasn't complaining about how simple and stupid the case was - the better to go easy on Lisbon, he felt. Lisbon wasn't complaining either, but this was because she was complaining about something else.

"I want to go out in the field," she told Jane from the start.

"Absolutely not," Jane said; "there's no need, and you shouldn't push yourself."

"I have to go out at _some_ point," Lisbon argued, "and I haven't had even the beginnings of a flashback all day."

"That's great, let's keep it that way," Jane said firmly.

Lisbon sighed. "Someday, I'm going to be back in charge of you," she said, not quite as forcefully as she might have once.

"Until then, you will do what I say," Jane replied, "and there's no need for you to go out in the field."

"I'm practically useless here!" Lisbon exploded.

"No, you're not," Jane said, "and you're whining right now."

"So what?" Lisbon snapped, getting frustrated.

It was Jane, ironically, who took a breath and kept calm. "I understand you're frustrated, Lisbon," he said gently, "but there's no _need_ to go out of your way right now. If it would make sense for you to go out the next time there's reason for any of us to go…I'll go with you, but I'll let you go. Not now, though."

"You're never going to let me out," Lisbon said. "Since when are you so serious and careful? The Patrick Jane I used to work with would go out of his way to take risks!"

"With _my_ life, not yours," Jane replied simply, "and I'm serious and careful right now because you can't be."

She hated that he was right, but he was, so she stood back and let everyone else do all the work; her job would be to finalize the paperwork, as it always was. _Deskwork is the only thing Jane trusts me to do,_ she thought, almost angrily, as she waited.

Because she was still technically the team leader, however, it was to her desk that the surveillance footage came, and by pure chance, Jane wasn't present when she received it. She looked through the pictures in the file by herself, not waiting for Jane or anyone else. Harold Jason was clearly visible leaving the building in the middle of his shift, and the time stamp meant that his alibi was completely nil. Between that and all the other evidence they already had, it was almost certain that he was the killer, simply and easily…and this time, she was the first to know.

She thought. Harold Jason was at work at that moment, but it was getting late, and he would head for home soon. Should she go and get him now, when she knew where was and could reach him before he left work? Or should she wait and have someone else make the arrest, or at least have someone accompany her? If she ran off, she would get in trouble, and Jane would chew her out for it…

For once, Lisbon's common sense failed her, as she thought of how she had once been more than capable of making an official arrest without help - _especially_ without _Jane's_ help - and gave in to her frustration. _I can do this myself,_ she thought mutinously, warily glancing at Jane, who miraculously had his back turned for the moment, talking to Bertram. She didn't want Jane following her to a simple arrest - she wanted to do something without his help, to _show_ him that she _could_ do something without his help. Now was her chance to prove herself, both to Jane and to everyone else, _including_ herself.

She quickly slipped away, keeping an eye on Jane as long as he was in sight, then moving as fast as she could once he wasn't. She made it to her car, and she drove away as fast as possible, almost breaking the speed limit as she headed for Jason's workplace.

Harold Jason was just walking out of the building where he worked to his car in the lot outside when Lisbon drove up. She quickly got out before he could reach his car and hurried up to him, flashing her badge.

"Mr. Jason?" she called.

He turned to her, his expression guarded.

"Agent Lisbon, CBI," she told him. "I'm here about the murder of Julia White."

"I already told the police everything I know," Mr. Jason said; "I was here that whole day; my shift ends now same as always, and that's way too late for me to have killed that girl, so go bother someone else."

"Really?" Lisbon asked, almost sarcastically. "That's interesting, because security footage from that door shows you leaving work three hours before your shift was over - more than soon enough for you to murder Julia." She pointed at the very camera that had provided this evidence. He turned to look at it, his expression unreadable. "Would you care to explain that?"

Jason gave no response for a minute. Then, suddenly, he turned and started to run.

"Stop!" Lisbon shouted, pulling out her gun and running after him.

To her surprise, he _did_ stop, turning on her on a dime. She didn't have a chance to react, her momentum was too great, and he easily knocked her to the ground with a blow to the face.

She fell, her grip on her gun loosening. The pain from the punch or fall wasn't too bad - she had suffered far, _far_ worse injuries, after all - but she was stunned, having not expected violent resistance.

She scrambled, trying to get to her feet, but Jason kicked her in the stomach. She rolled away from the blow and tried to duck for cover behind one of the many cars in the lot. _He_ chased _her_, grabbing onto her gun and trying to wrench it from her grasp. She did her best not to let go, and the two of them fell into a tangle of wrestling limbs for a minute, both struggling to get the upper hand.

There was a time when Lisbon would have prevailed. Unfortunately, her injuries - both on the outside and on the inside - were still enough to hinder her, and the man she was fighting was in a murderous frenzy and resisting arrest, with basically nothing to lose. He knocked the gun out of her hands, and it went clattering across the pavement a short distance. Lisbon might still have been able to get it again, but the sight reminded her of another time someone had taken her gun from her and sent it skidding away…a much worse time, when she had fought for her life and lost…

She closed her eyes, fighting the oncoming flashback. It took her only a couple of seconds to force it down, but that was enough time for her opponent to reach her gun and turn it on her, standing up and walking to her. She dived out of the way just as he fired. She heard the bullet as it bounced off the metal of a car right behind where she had been.

Lisbon had no gun, no way of fighting back, no backup, not even a bulletproof vest; as she crawled away, trying to stay behind cover, she admitted to herself that coming here without letting anyone know where she was going or what she was doing had been a very stupid idea. Desperately, she tried to stand up, duck, and run, but as she hurried around another car, by pure chance, she tripped and fell to the ground. Her attacker was still pursuing her. She turned over, saw him coming, and tried to back away, but her back hit the side of a car and she was pinned, helpless, as Harold Jason lifted her gun and pointed it at her, breathing heavily.

She couldn't even cry out as he put his finger on the trigger…

~o~

When Jane finished updating Bertram and turned around, he was shocked to discover that Lisbon was gone.

"Lisbon?" he called, his heart pounding, running back towards where he had left her.

No response.

He looked around wildly, trying to figure out where she was - he had ordered her to not go anywhere without telling him first, not even to the bathroom. It quickly became apparent, however, that she had disobeyed him.

But where had she gone?

Frantically, he searched her desk, hoping that maybe he would find something. Luckily, Lisbon hadn't bothered hiding the folder with the pictures inside or bringing it with her, and Jane only had to look at it for a second to come to the same conclusion she had.

_Harold Jason,_ he thought, _as I said all along. She must have gone after him on her own. But why?_

_Because she's sick of you babysitting her,_ said that voice in his head that had been so vocal since he had rescued Lisbon. _She thinks you're overbearing and wants to prove to you that she can take care of herself._

_But she _can't_ take care of herself,_ Jane thought frantically, _or at least not as well as she used to._

He debated what to do for only a few moments. She probably hadn't told anyone at all about the footage for fear that they would report to him, so she almost certainly had no backup. If she _could_ take Harold Jason down on her own, that would be great, but it was downright foolish to approach a murder suspect with so much evidence compiled against him all by oneself. Jane had no time to summon a police force, or even to alert the team - if he was going to make sure Lisbon was safe, he was going to have to go after her right away.

He ran out of HQ, quickly checking the lot for Lisbon's car; sure enough, it was gone. He got in his own car and drove to the scene as fast as he could, easily breaking the speed limit, not caring about anything except Lisbon's safety.

By the time he drove up, though, it was too late - Harold Jason had Lisbon's gun aimed directly at her, and she was pinned against a car. Jane jumped out of his car, but there was no time for him to do anything but process the scene - he couldn't even take a step closer to either of them. He could only shout "No!" as Jason deliberately put his finger on the trigger and-

Suddenly, Jason lurched forward slightly, making a choking noise.

Jane and Lisbon stared at him, frozen, as his hand went limp, the gun clattered to the pavement, and his arm fell to his side. He made a few more odd, choking noises, dropped to his knees, then slumped to the ground, face first, so that he was lying on his stomach, blood trickling from his mouth…and Jane and Lisbon could see what had stopped him.

There was a knife sticking out of his back.

Lisbon looked from the knife to the space behind where the man had been standing, just in time to see a tall, black figure stride deliberately, unhurriedly forward. The figure reached the now-dead Harold Jason, planted its heavy boot on the corpse's back, took hold of the handle of the knife that he had apparently thrown, and yanked it out.

Red John turned around, away from Lisbon, fiddled with his black cloth face mask, and swiped the blade of his knife twice in front of his face, the flat of the blade facing him, first one side, then the other. Then, he muttered something to himself that sounded distinctly like, "Oh, how I've missed the taste of blood."

The knife blade, which had been bloody, was clean: Red John had licked the blood off.

He readjusted his cloth mask and turned back towards Lisbon. As he walked over to her, neither she nor Jane could move.

He crouched down in front of her. She was too petrified to think, her eyes wide. Then, he said something that sounded utterly unlike him:

"Are you okay, My Dear?"

The question sounded heartfelt, almost as though Red John actually cared whether or not she was okay.

She couldn't answer.

"You're hurt." He reached as though to touch the side of her face, then stopped himself and pulled back. He was still for a moment, apparently thinking, then twisted the bottom off of the handle of his knife and held it out to her.

"Here," he said softly. "Drink this."

She couldn't move.

"It's okay, you know what this is," he went on gently. "You've seen me take it."

She still couldn't move.

He sighed, and Lisbon could almost see him roll his eyes behind his mask. Then he put the handle of his knife between his teeth, and, using his now-free hand, forced her mouth open and tilted her head back, dumping the contents of the small plastic half-egg cup down her throat. She gagged, mindlessly trying to resist.

"Don't you touch her!" Jane shouted, suddenly unfrozen, and he ran at Red John. "Get away from her!"

Red John ignored Jane, pressing a pressure point on Lisbon's neck to force her to swallow, then releasing her, taking his knife out of his mouth and screwing the bottom back on. Then he stood, just in time for Jane's tackle to miss, and he grabbed Jane by the back of his jacket and added his own strength to Jane's momentum, sending Jane tumbling mercilessly to the ground, rolling across the pavement, until he slammed to a stop against a car.

"You idiot," Red John hissed, stepping away from Lisbon and towards his old foe, the malice and evil characteristic of him back in his voice. "How about a little gratitude? Had I not stepped in, she'd be _dead_, and it would have been all thanks to _you_!"

Jane, winded and trying to get his breath back, couldn't respond.

"You're supposed to be taking _care_ of her, you moron!" Red John continued, his voice a snarl. "You almost let her die! What were you thinking, turning your back on her in the middle of a case? You _idiot_!" he shouted, walking over and kicking Jane hard in the chest. Jane cried out at the blow, but Red John ignored this. "Bad enough that you make me save _your_ life; now you make me save _hers_, too?" he raged. "You think I _enjoy_ this, o foolish old friend of mine? You think I _enjoy_ playing the hero?"

"Nobody's calling you…a hero," Jane managed to gasp, the hateful resentment in his voice only slightly diminished by his breathlessness.

"Good," Red John snapped, "because if they did, I don't think I'd be able to bear the shame!" He shook his head, reduced to growling in disgust. "Damn it, you _stupid_-" He kicked Jane again. "-_brainless_-" Again. "-_numbskull_-" Again.

"Stop!"

Red John froze at Lisbon's weak call, then slowly turned around to face her. "Why should I?" he demanded. "You've almost died twice now because of him!"

"Please…" Lisbon's plea was soft and helpless.

There was silence for a minute.

"Why did you do it?" Lisbon finally managed.

"I beg your pardon, My Dear Little Saint?" Red John asked, the malice suddenly and strangely gone from his voice.

"If you're so mad that you had to save me…why did you save me?" Lisbon asked, her voice still coming faint and weak. "You didn't have to…"

Red John stared at her silently for a few moments, as though trying to choose his words carefully before replying.

"You're not quite ready to hear the answer to that question just yet, My Dear," he said at last, his tone oddly gentle. "If you'd like, I'll call you when you _are_ ready and let you know then." He smiled and added, "You've already invited me to call you, and I still intend to take you up on it."

The three of them were silent for a minute, none of them moving. Then, without another word, Red John turned away from both Jane and Lisbon and started walking back the way he'd come.

"Hey," Lisbon managed to call after him.

He stopped and turned his head back to her. "Yes?"

She swallowed nervously, gathered all the strength she could muster, and said, "Thank you for saving me." She even managed to smile at him and add, "I owe you one."

"You owe me _nothing_," Red John spat. "Don't push your luck, My Dear Little Saint, unless you want another scar to add to your collection. You're just one shy of having one for every hour of the day, after all." He laughed cruelly, turned back around, and walked to what slightly resembled a large motorcycle. He vaulted onto it in one fluid, graceful motion, and Lisbon and Jane watched, transfixed, as he twirled his knife around a few times, stuck it into the side of the (apparent) vehicle, turned it like a key, adjusted some pedals and knobs, and was suddenly, soundlessly gone in the blink of an eye, leaving nothing but a small breath of wind in his wake.

For a minute, both Jane and Lisbon stayed where they were, Jane gasping to get his breath back, Lisbon shaking but otherwise frozen. Finally, Jane managed to force himself to his feet, and he ran over to Lisbon, coming to rest on his knees right in front of her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"Lisbon," he said, looking deeply into her eyes, reading her as well as he could. "Are you okay?"

"Am _I_ okay?" Lisbon repeated. "What about _you_?"

"I'm fine," Jane said dismissively.

"He kicked you pretty hard-" Lisbon began.

"I'll be _fine_," Jane insisted; "I'm more worried about _you_." He raised his hand and touched a spot on her forehead. "Wh…Whose blood is this?" he asked, confused.

Lisbon blinked and touched the same spot. She felt no pain, and though there was some blood on her fingers when her hand came away, it wasn't much.

"Mine, I guess," she said, staring at the smear on her fingertips. "I'm okay now, though."

Jane gave her an odd look. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked.

Lisbon smiled. "I'm not making sense, huh?" she asked.

Jane shook his head. "No, no you're not," he said.

"That stuff he gave me…it heals injuries, somehow - I don't know how it works," she said. "All I know is that it makes cuts and probably bruises heal instantly."

"Lisbon, that's impossible," Jane said.

"So is he," she replied simply.

There was a pause. Then Jane asked, "Why would he give you something to heal you?"

"I don't know," Lisbon replied, starting to shake again. She had been too overall overwhelmed by just seeing him again to think of it, but now that Jane mentioned it…why _would_ he give her that stuff, anyway?

Quickly, Jane hugged her, and she hugged him back tightly. "I guess what matters is that you're okay," Jane said.

"Mm-hmm," Lisbon said, the pain, fear, and shock left from seeing Red John again draining away in Jane's embrace.

Jane sighed. "Don't run off like that again," he said; "you shouldn't have come here, _especially_ not without backup."

Lisbon laughed, and they pulled back some. "How many times have I said the same thing to you?" she asked.

"Well, _I_ just don't listen," Jane said with an offhand smile - he'd been referencing their old normalcy intentionally. "_You_, on the other hand, normally care about orders and protocol and so on."

Lisbon smiled back, then slowly grew serious again, her smile fading.

"I wanted to…prove that I could handle something without your help," she said, looking away ashamedly.

Jane sighed. "Lisbon, you realize that you probably just set back your recovery by at least a few weeks?" he said. "You shouldn't push yourself. There's a _reason_ I forbade you to go out-"

"I _know_," Lisbon said unhappily, looking at Jane again. "I just…" She shook her head and sighed heavily. "I just want things to go back to normal."

"Me too," Jane said half-truthfully, "and that's why you need to not run off like that. The Lisbon I used to work for wouldn't have been so reckless."

Lisbon sighed again, wearily, but she didn't argue.

Jane tilted his head. "Why did you thank him?" he asked abruptly; he hadn't wanted to ask at first, for fear of hurting her more by making her think harder about what had just happened, but at the same time, he needed to know…

"Oh, that?" Lisbon asked, and she smiled slightly. "Don't worry, I only thanked him because I knew it would piss him off."

Jane blinked. "Why?" he asked, confused. Lisbon opened her mouth to say something, but he quickly changed his mind and said, "No, no, don't tell me, I don't want to hear about it. I was just worried about you saying you owed him…"

"I don't owe him anything," Lisbon said, and Jane was relieved to hear a hint of her old strength in her voice; "I _only_ said that to piss him off - _not_ because I meant it."

"Okay," he said, fighting with himself not to ask. "Good."

They were silent for a moment. Then, Jane leaned towards her.

She quickly held up her hands, shielding her face. "No, that's okay, you don't need to do that," she said quickly.

Jane stopped. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Lisbon smiled in spite of herself. "Don't you think maybe you're a little too eager to?" she teased.

Jane chuckled. "There, see?" he said, pointing at her smile. "_There's_ Lisbon."

Lisbon laughed, too.

Jane stood up. "Alright," he said, "let's get out of here." He held out a hand to help her up, half-hoping she wouldn't take it.

She did.

They started to walk back to their cars.

"Oh, wait," Lisbon said, stopping suddenly. She ran over to the casualty of the night, bent down, and picked up her gun.

Jane looked at the dead man as Lisbon holstered her weapon. "I…guess he's our guy?" he said slowly. "Or, _was_…"

"Yeah," Lisbon said faintly, the reality of just how close she had come to dying finally sinking in; "yeah, I think it's pretty safe to assume he's our guy."

Jane put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her a bit. "Well, _boss_," he said, "what happens when we catch a killer dead?"

Lisbon took a breath. "I'll write a report," she said; "in the meantime, we should head back, report to HQ…"

"Right," Jane said.

They left without another word.

When the body was photographed, catalogued, gathered, and inspected later, the coroner would find that Red John's knife had cut neatly through the heart at an angle, just acute enough to fit between two ribs, but sharp enough to cause the different chambers of the heart to exchange fluids and leak blood out into the lungs and surrounding body cavity - a wound almost as perfectly deadly as a bullet between the eyes.

~o~

That night, Jane insisted on staying in Lisbon's home for the night, despite her halfhearted protests. That she was protesting at all was reassuring, but he could tell that she still needed him, more than she had for the past few weeks, because Red John had saved her life.

_Red John had saved her life._

Lisbon managed to insist that she didn't need Jane to sleep in the same room as her, so he spent the night on her couch, but he still didn't sleep. He couldn't stop pondering what had happened, Red John's words echoing in his head…

_"You think I _enjoy_ playing the hero?"…"Had I not stepped in, she would be _dead_, and it would be all thanks to _you_!"…"You're supposed to be taking _care_ of her, you moron!"…_

_Why would he care?_ Jane wondered. _It seemed like he was mad me for taking my eyes off of her for five minutes…Yeah, she'd be dead if he hadn't stepped in, but _why_ did he? He saved _my_ life that one time because if I die, he'll have no one to torment, but…why wouldn't he want Lisbon dead? He should have been glad that someone was going to finish what he started…_ He was too perplexed to even be grateful.

He didn't believe Lisbon about Red John's miracle cure for injuries, but the fact stood that she was unharmed. He hadn't seen a lot of what had happened…but where had the blood on her forehead come from? And why…why in the world would Red John want Lisbon to not be hurt?

_Why_?

~o~

Life went on as usual after the incident with Red John. Jane was chastised by Bertram for letting Lisbon out of his sight for a few minutes (completely ignoring the fact that Jane had had to argue with him just to get the official assignment of taking care of her in the first place), but, mostly thanks to Lisbon's input, the ultimate verdict on the matter was "no harm, no foul". Despite his worries, Jane was also forced to acknowledge that he had pushed Lisbon into acting as she had, and that he needed to work towards her _recovering_, not being shut away from any and all danger.

Jane forced Lisbon to let him stay the night in her apartment for two more weeks before he felt comfortable just getting her home and leaving her there alone again. After this, he started letting her go out during cases, even view crime scenes with her own eyes, though he did his best to ease her into it slowly. This routine carried on for two more months, then Lisbon told Jane that she only needed his help getting through the parking lot, not a step further. A week after that, he only needed to follow her home in his car and stay in the lot until she was through.

About ten months after Lisbon came back to work, she was able to go home all by herself, not needing Jane to follow her any of the way at all. He still insisted on kissing her quickly before letting her go every night, and for a few weeks, this was standard. A month later, however, Lisbon started asking him to stop.

"I'll stop when you've fully recovered, Lisbon, and not a moment sooner," he told her.

"And how will you know when I've 'fully recovered'?" she bantered.

"When you slap me," he replied.

Lisbon's teasing smile faded at that. "I'm not going to slap you," she said solemnly, "not ever. You saved my life."

"You're not better yet," was all Jane had to say in response.

Two weeks later, Lisbon started actively trying to get Jane to stop kissing her good night. After a third week, she started getting angry about it, more and more so, slowly coming closer and closer to the response she would have given before Red John took her.

Then, about one year after she had come back to work, despite her assertion, when Jane forced a kiss on her, she pushed him away and slapped him.

"I told you, _stop_!" she said angrily.

Jane put a hand to his stinging cheek, and a huge grin split his face. He turned the joyful expression on her.

"What are you-?" she started to ask, but she didn't have time to say more before Jane lunged at her and engulfed her in a tremendous hug that lifted her off the ground.

"Hey, what the-? Cut it out!" she exclaimed, pushing at him until he released her. She stumbled back a few steps, panting. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded.

"Nothing!" Jane said, beaming. "And more importantly, nothing's wrong with _you_!"

Lisbon blinked.

Jane laughed out of sheer happiness. "You're all better!" he said.

Lisbon was silent for a moment.

"I slapped you…" she finally said slowly.

Jane's grin couldn't get wider. "Yes," he said joyfully, "yes you did."

"…Does this mean you're going to stop kissing me good night now?" Lisbon asked.

Jane nodded, still grinning. "Oh, absolutely," he assured her.

She let out an enormous sigh of relief. "Thank god," she said, but she smiled.

"Welcome back, Lisbon," Jane said happily, and he turned and left, going back upstairs so he could get back to work without another moment's delay.

Lisbon thought for a moment, then jogged after him. "Hey!" she called when he was halfway up the stairs.

He stopped and turned back to her. "Yeah?" he asked, still smiling radiantly.

"You should get some sleep tonight," Lisbon said seriously. "I…get the feeling we'll be in for a long day tomorrow."

Jane's smile dimmed a bit. "Yeah?" he asked.

Lisbon nodded. "Yeah," she said in a tone even Jane couldn't quite decipher.

They were both still for a moment. Then, finally, Lisbon smiled.

"Good night, Jane," she said.

"Night, Lisbon," Jane said, and he resumed jogging up the stairs.

Lisbon smiled to herself, then left to go home.

~o~

Not too terribly far away, Red John sat back in his seat.

"_All_ better?" he repeated. A wicked smile tugged at his lips. "I doubt that, somehow," he hissed. "Still, it is _your_ call, Old Friend…and there's only one way to find out if you're right."

He stood and picked up his knife, a thrill running through him. He knew, of course, that he was lucky that Lisbon had recovered at all, never mind in just a little over a year, but still…

_Finally_, after fifteen months, he would get to have fresh blood again.


	5. Red John's Heart, Part 1

When everyone arrived for work the next day, Jane didn't even get a chance to announce that Lisbon had officially recovered before Director Bertram walked in.

"Oh, hey, Bertram," Jane said, smiling; "you're just in time! I have excellent news!"

"That's great, Jane," Bertram said, "but-"

"Wait!" Jane said, holding up a finger. "Before you say whatever you're going to say…" He paused for effect, looked around and smiled at everyone, then gestured dramatically at Lisbon and declared, "As of last night, Lisbon has officially recovered."

"You sure?" Rigsby asked.

"Yes," Lisbon answered for Jane; "I'm okay now."

"That's great!" Van Pelt said, truly happy to hear that normalcy was returning at last.

"Yeah, great," Bertram said unenthusiastically.

Everyone turned to him. "What's going on?" Jane asked, still smiling.

Bertram sighed heavily, but he didn't get a chance to respond before Lisbon spoke.

"He's back," she said, looking at Bertram with a somber expression. "Isn't he?"

The director of the CBI met her eyes, not needing to ask for clarification. "Yes," he said gravely, and he tossed a folder onto her desk. He glanced around at the team. "You're up," he said, with much less authoritativeness than usual. He hesitated, then turned a very serious gaze on Jane.

"You had better be right," he told him, pointing a finger for emphasis.

Then, he turned and walked away.

Everyone was still for a moment. Then, Jane and Lisbon both reached for the folder Bertram had left them at the same time. Lisbon was the first to get a hand on it, but Jane yanked it out of her grasp. She didn't fight him - it was his business at least as much as hers, after all - and everyone was still as Jane opened the folder to see what was inside.

All traces of his happiness at Lisbon's recovery vanished from his face, like a light being snuffed out. He didn't say anything.

"It's Red John," Lisbon said. "Isn't it, Jane?"

Jane closed his eyes. "Yes," he said softly.

Lisbon nodded. "I was expecting this," she said; "he gave his word that he wouldn't kill again until-"

"I don't want to hear about it," Jane said sternly, shooting a look at her.

She stopped talking.

Jane's expression softened a bit. "You want to wait here?" he asked her.

Lisbon shook her head. "No," she said, "I can handle it."

"Are you sure?" Jane pressed.

"Yes," Lisbon said firmly. She took a few steps towards the exit, then turned back to glance at everyone. "Let's go," she commanded.

"Right," Rigsby said, and they all followed her out.

~o~

Only those who were intimately familiar with Red John's style of murder would have noticed, but the scene was bloodier than usual, the injuries more violent. Lisbon looked closely - almost as closely as Jane usually did - at what there was to see.

"No blood on her toenails means this wasn't personal," she said, with as much certainty as Jane would normally have when making such an assertion. She looked at her team. "The only reason this looks angrier than normal is because he was eager to get back to it." She gestured at the victim's left upper arm; a gash nearly split the flesh to the bone. "That's new," she went on. "It matches a cut I have on the opposite arm." She was silent for a minute, then softly added, "He cut her in all the places he didn't cut me." She looked at Jane. "He saw you say I'd recovered last night," she told him; "he wants to find out if you're right."

"Is he?" Van Pelt asked tentatively.

"I'm fine," Lisbon said. She looked at the body again.

_That was almost me._ The thought wasn't absent from her head. Her scars ached under her clothes, and she felt a cold pit in her stomach, but she was able to remind herself that that _wasn't_ her, that she had survived and overcome what had been done to her against all odds. _He can't hurt me anymore,_ she half-told, half-reminded herself.

"Lisbon."

"Hm? What?" She looked up quickly, realizing that she had momentarily allowed herself to lose focus.

Jane just looked at her.

"I'm fine," she told him again, and she took a step back. "Do your thing."

Procedure was followed, and Jane took his own courses of action as usual. Lisbon was a bit more forgiving of the lengths he was willing to go to to catch Red John, but it was all to no avail nonetheless. She hadn't really expected to be able to get anything useful out of the case, but it was always worth trying.

The most important thing was that, apart from giving Jane a bit more leeway than normal, Lisbon handled the case like any of the others they'd pursued. She didn't waver, didn't suffer from a single flashback, didn't show any signs of lingering trauma at all, at least on the outside. Of course, she wasn't quite the same on the inside, but she never would be; what mattered was that she could handle it, and handle it she did.

When all potential leads had been pursued as far as they could and the result was no progress towards finding Red John whatsoever, the only thing to be shown for it was that things were officially back to normal all around.

…Until that night, after the rest of the team had gone home and Lisbon was doing paperwork in her office, alone…

~o~

Lisbon didn't jump when her cell phone rang; she wasn't expecting a call, but half of the calls she ever got were spur-of-the-moment, and she thought nothing of it.

She sighed and reached for her phone. Her brow furrowed when she didn't recognize the caller ID, but she still wasn't really unsettled.

She picked up.

"Lisbon," she said by way of greeting.

"Good evening, My Dear Little Saint."

Lisbon's chest constricted at the unmistakeable voice. She froze for a moment, her eyes wide.

"R-Red John," she said softly at last.

"The one and only," the dark voice said proudly. He chuckled. "I told you I would call."

_Get it together,_ Lisbon told herself firmly. She took a breath and sat back, forcing herself to relax. "So you did," she said, her voice normal. She thought for a second, then said, "Nice job hacking up that woman the other night. Who was she to you?"

"No one," Red John said dismissively; "she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, as they say." His voice darkened as he added, "I must say, I enjoyed her quite a bit. Fifteen months is a long time for me to go without innocent blood."

"Do you have any idea how unlikely I was to recover at all?" Lisbon asked spitefully. "You're damn lucky you only had to wait fifteen months."

"I am aware of that, yes," Red John said in an odd tone of voice. "You are…far stronger than I had ever imagined a person could possibly be. I'm impressed, really. You…are very worthy of respect, indeed."

"Gee, thanks," Lisbon said sarcastically. She waited a beat, then said, "Actually, come to think of it, I'm surprised that you really did keep your word. How did you do it? You usually go about six months between kills."

"I gave my word that I would wait until you recovered," Red John stated, as though that was all there was to it.

"I know," Lisbon said mockingly, "but how did you keep it?"

Red John sighed. "I am nothing if not a man of my word," he told Lisbon; "if I give my word on something - _anything_ - I keep it, no matter the cost." He paused, then added, "Besides, as I told you, I don't _need_ to kill - I can restrain myself, if I so choose."

Lisbon just shook her head. "Freak," she spat.

"And proudly so," Red John said affably.

"Whatever." She took a breath, then said, "So, tell me…why did you save my life?"

There was silence over the line.

"Why did you save me?" Lisbon asked again. "You said you would tell me when I was ready to hear it. Well, I'm ready. What's going on in that twisted head of yours?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I _did_ tell you," Red John answered at last. "You might as well not worry about it."

Lisbon smirked. "Look," she said, "I know what you are - what you are is impossible, but you're real, and I know it - so there isn't much I can't believe anymore. You think I can't believe whatever your explanation for saving my life is? Try me. I dare you."

Red John was silent for a minute. Then, he said the last thing Lisbon would have ever expected:

"I saved you because I love you."

Lisbon laughed. She laughed hard, for several minutes, at just how absurd that sounded coming from the monster who had almost more than killed her. She laughed at the possibility that he might actually mean it.

"Okay, you're right," she admitted when she could finally speak again. "I don't believe you."

"Hmm…" Red John said ponderously. "Would you care to explain why not?"

"Because you're a heartless monster," Lisbon asnwered readily, still smiling.

Static crackled over the line as Red John sighed. "My dear, you know me better than _that_," he said. "Don't you?"

"I thought you were _proud_ to be a monster," Lisbon said mockingly.

"Oh, I am," Red John assured her; "but you know I'm not _heartless_."

Lisbon's brow furrowed, her smile fading. "I do?"

"Oh, come now, My Dear, I thought you understood!" Red John exclaimed. "We've been over this, more or less…I mean, you _seemed_ to understand when I told you."

"Told me what?" Lisbon asked guardedly.

"About my one regret," Red John replied.

_Oh god, that's right,_ Lisbon thought, closing her eyes against the memory.

"I am capable of remorse," Red John said; "it's just different from the kind most people feel. I am not _heartless_, My Dear," he told her, a bit exasperated. "'Heartless' means empty, broken, sick - I am none of those things. I am whole, I am sane, and there is nothing wrong _with_ me; I simply _am_ wrong. I have a heart, it's just…different, from most. Inverted, one might even say. Yet it _does_ exist."

Lisbon sighed. "You are a twisted freak," she stated.

Red John chuckled. "That's more or less what I just said," he replied.

"Well…love is something that can't be twisted," Lisbon finally said.

"Are you sure about that, My Dear?" Red John asked.

"Pretty sure, yeah," Lisbon said mockingly.

"Then why do _you_ think I saved your life?" Red John challenged.

"I don't know!" Lisbon spat. "How am I supposed to understand why you do things?"

"If there's anyone in the world who understands me, it's you," Red John pointed out.

"That's not saying a whole lot, though, is it?" Lisbon countered.

"No," Red John admitted, and she could almost see him smile.

"Well, thank you for calling," Lisbon said. "Now go to hell."

"Maybe someday, but not right now, thanks," Red John said mockingly.

"Then go to wherever it is you go when you're not bothering anyone, you freak," Lisbon said, "and leave me alone!"

"Oh come now, My Dear, you're strong enough to handle a conversation with me, aren't you?" Though his voice was light, the words cut through Lisbon like a knife.

Her jaw clenched. _You can't hurt me anymore._ "I could handle talking to you all night," she told him, "but I have better things to do with my time."

"Maybe we could talk some more tomorrow night, then?" Red John suggested. "I do miss talking to you…No one else I know has quite the sharpness of wit to be a good conversationalist."

"Maybe you should call Jane," Lisbon taunted.

"Would you like me to do that?" Red John asked, the mockery in his voice very subtle. "Or would you rather talk to me yourself? Or, better yet, how about you go find him and tell him who's on your phone right now, and you could _both_ talk to me?"

She knew he was trying to make her mad, but that didn't stop him from succeeding. "I don't need Jane to babysit me," Lisbon growled, more viciously than she meant to. "I don't need to run crying to him just because you called me. _I don't need him_!"

"I didn't say anything about babysitting or crying," Red John said lightly.

_But that's what you meant, isn't it?_ "Look, if you really have nothing better to do than talk to me, be my guest," Lisbon said flatly; "I'll talk to you as long as you'd like, about whatever you'd like."

"Even though you have work to do?" Red John taunted.

"It can wait," Lisbon said.

"Hmm…" Red John purred. "I'll remember those words."

"Please do," Lisbon snapped.

"I will," Red John said. "For now, though, I think I'll let you get back to work. Until tomorrow night, My Dear Little Saint."

"Hey, wait a minute!" Lisbon exclaimed.

"Yes?" Red John asked.

"Wh…You still haven't told me why you saved me," Lisbon spluttered.

"Yes I did," Red John said, his tone strangely gentle. "I love you, My Dear Little Saint Teresa."

Lisbon opened her mouth, but no words came.

Red John laughed his cold, evil laugh. "Good night," he said.

The line went dead.

Lisbon slowly set her phone down and sat back in her chair, dumbstruck. What sort of game was Red John playing now? What could he possibly want from her?

_Well, whatever he wants, I'll play his little game as long as he does,_ Lisbon decided, _and I _won't_ tell Jane. He doesn't need to know. _I_ don't need him to know._

_I don't need _him_._

Maybe, if she kept telling herself that, it would be true someday…

~o~

Red John did indeed call Lisbon the next night. He also called her the night after that, and the night after that. It quickly became a routine for both of them.

The topics of their conversations varied from night to night, and lasted between ten minutes to sometimes up to two hours - Lisbon made a point of always being last to hang up. Most of the time while they talked, she concentrated on trying to insult him however she could; this only ever seemed to amuse him, and he often praised her skill with words as she mocked him. Night after night, Lisbon tried to figure out what Red John wanted from her, but as far as she could tell, he really did seem to only want to talk.

Jane had no idea about Lisbon's conversations with Red John - Red John never called any time Jane was even on the way to coming within earshot, and he even hung up abruptly once or twice just in time to give Lisbon time to hide the fact that she'd even been on her phone at all before Jane came by. She didn't need to run to Jane just because Red John was doing something - she could handle him on her own - and she worked hard to keep her secret hidden. No matter how pleasant Red John seemed, Lisbon was convinced that he was trying to break her again, to drive her to needing Jane's help again - now that she had recovered, he could kill again, so if he could break her again now, there wouldn't be any victim of his who truly got away - and she refused to give in. It was like a game, in a way, and she was determined not to lose, no matter how long things went on like this.

After a few nights, their conversation by chance brought up a game Red John had invented: If one person asks a question, and the other replies with a question, and the first person wants to challenge the second to the game, they ask "Do you always answer a question with a question?" If the second person knows about the game, they say, "Are you challenging me?" The challenger then asks, "Do you accept?" Provided their opponent also wants to play, they respond with a question, to which the first person responds with a question, and so on, making an entire conversation composed entirely of questions. The first one to say something that isn't a question loses.

The question game found its way into Lisbon's conversations with Red John after the first time, sometimes of her volition, sometimes his. Surprisingly, Red John didn't _always_ win, though Lisbon could never tell if he actually slipped up those times or if he was just tired and gave in on purpose. In any case, Lisbon herself _never_ gave in, and only ever lost on account of a genuine mistake. Even when she lost, though, Red John often remarked that she lasted a lot longer as an opponent than anyone else he had ever played the question game with, praising her wit and cleverness in a manner that seemed almost genuine despite also being rather over-the-top.

Any compliments Red John ever gave her, Lisbon accepted with sarcasm, a jab if she could make one, but deep down, she truly wasn't sure how to take them. He always sounded sincere, but that was impossible…Sometimes Lisbon wondered if she really did understand anything about him at all. She scoffed at the idea that he loved her, but there was _something_ going on, something that she couldn't quite figure out.

Every conversation they had, even the shortest of them, contained at least one "I love you" from Red John, and he never wavered from his insistence that he did care for her. Not enough to turn himself in - Lisbon asked, and more than once at that, albeit sarcastically - but he never admitted to lying, or even exaggerating. Lisbon would never, _ever_ believe him, of course, but he never stopped saying it; he was as adamant about it as he was that Patrick Jane was the biggest moron to ever disgrace the face of the Earth, and would never catch him.


	6. Red John's Heart, Part 2

**Once a teaser, now a real chapter, with some edits and a little bonus stuff at the end, here's this story back. Enjoy! (…And this will NOT be the last chapter after all… ;D )**

* * *

><p>One night, when Lisbon went to her office at the end of the day after the rest of her team had gone home, she hoped to have maybe an hour to work on the paperwork that she had to take care of before Red John called her. What she <em>didn't<em> expect was to find a letter sitting neatly at the center of her workspace, with no markings on the envelope other than her name written in very ornate handwriting. She didn't even have to sit down to see it.

Her scars throbbed, all twenty-three at once, a single time, at the sight of it, but she would have known who the letter was from even if they hadn't - she'd seen the note Red John had left Jane to tell him about the game he wanted to play with her life as the stakes, and the handwriting was unmistakeable. Perhaps her scars hurt _because_ she knew.

For a moment, she was tempted to call Jane. Just for a moment. _No,_ she told herself; _I don't need to run crying to him every time Red John does something. I can handle this._

She sat down, took a breath to fortify herself, then picked up the envelope, opened it (it wasn't sealed), took out the letter, and read:

_My Dear Little Saint Teresa,  
><em>_Normally, we pass some time every night talking over the phone, but tonight, I thought I'd give you a special treat. I'm holding a gathering for all of my friends right now, and I'd be honored if you would join us. If you agree, go outside into the parking lot; a friend of mine will come to collect you. You will have to go back on vision blockers, of course, and you will be tranquilized on the way here so that you won't know where we are…I apologize for that, but surely you understand why it's necessary.  
><em>_You needn't come if you don't wish to; I only wanted to make the offer on the off chance you feel like doing something a bit more fun than paperwork tonight. I won't think less of you if you prioritize your job, however; I know you, My Dear Little Saint, and I will understand if you choose to turn down this invitation. It would not be a sign of weakness, merely of prioritization.  
><em>_In any case, we won't speak on the phone tonight - I do have to be a good host to my guests, after all, and our party, for lack of a better word, will last several hours. Whatever you choose, do have a good night, My Dear._

_With love,_

_Red John_

When she finished reading, Lisbon closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing for a moment. When she felt grounded enough, she considered Red John's invitation.

She had work to do, it was true, but it wasn't as urgent as she might lead some people to believe; she was a hard worker, always on top of things even despite Red John's pestering, and she wasn't behind on anything, nor would she be even if she took this one night off. She didn't want to be tranquilized, abducted, and put on vision blockers again, but she knew, between recent events and the promise he had made to Jane, that Red John wouldn't hurt her.

Despite - or, perhaps, because of - his assertion that it wouldn't be a sign of weakness if she refused, she felt like the invitation was a challenge, a test of just how strong she really was, if she could really take care of herself when it came to Red John without needing Jane to babysit her. She thought back on her first few weeks of recovery with Jane's aid in shame, recalling how she'd needed to feel him beside her in bed at night just to feel safe enough to sleep…a frightened little girl, so afraid of the dark that she needed to sleep with her daddy.

Shame quickly converted to scorn. Lisbon still hated what Red John had turned her into - a helpless victim, when she was strong and capable and had gone toe-to-toe with numerous monsters, if monsters of a far lesser status than Red John himself. She _had_ gone toe-to-toe with Red John himself, and she had survived, even overcome the trauma he had left her with.

_I don't need Jane,_ Lisbon told herself, _and I don't need to hide. Red John can't hurt me anymore, not even if I speak to him in person again. I am not his victim. I can do this._

_I _will_ do this._

She stood up, her decision made. She tucked the letter away in her jacket so that no one would know she was fraternizing with California's most wanted serial killer, then walked out of the office, into the elevator, rode down to the first floor, and left the building.

Once she was outside, she slowed, looking around for Red John's 'friend'. She stopped in the middle of the parking lot. The lot was almost deserted - it _was_ late, after all - but Lisbon couldn't see any cars that she didn't recognize.

Suddenly, she heard someone behind her. Her first instinct was to turn around, but she caught herself and held still as someone ran up behind her quietly and put their hands on her upper arms, just as Red John had all that time ago. The touch bothered her for just a minute, but she buried her trauma and pain, reminding herself that she was safe.

A voice whispered in her ear.

"Are you coming?"

Unlike Red John, the mysterious person almost felt like they needed to stand up a bit straighter in order to reach. This was significant - Lisbon was a bit on the short side, but whoever had come to get her was about her height, if not a bit shorter.

She resisted the temptation to turn around. "Yes," she said.

"Hold still, then…" said the person.

Lisbon felt the needle coming, but refused to flinch as it pierced her neck. Her brain fogged up immediately, and she forced herself not to resist as sleep engulfed her.

~o~

When Lisbon awoke, she found herself in the passenger seat of a moving car. She groaned.

"Oh, you're awake," said a voice beside her. "Hold on, we're almost there."

Lisbon blinked away the last of the drug-induced slumber she had been in and sat up straight. The car was pulling into a slot in a parking lot - a crowded one, unlike the one at CBI HQ. Lisbon woke up fully just as the car stopped.

She looked to her left at the driver. She couldn't make out any details about the person; she was on vision blockers again, she recognized the way things around her looked, even though she'd spent most of her first time on vision blockers in a single, mostly-empty room.

The person held out their hand to Lisbon, and she thought she detected a smile on the person's face. "It's nice to meet you, Saint. I'm Dove."

Lisbon took the hand that was offered to her. "'Dove'?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, that's right," said the person; "while you're here, you'll know me as Dove. You will be known as 'Saint'." Again, a smile. "RJ gives us all nicknames, and we shorten them among ourselves when we get together - you know, as a mark of respect for the fact that we're the ones he chose." The person's voice darkened as she (for Lisbon could tell, now, that the person was a woman) added, "You're very lucky to have a nickname like one of us, even though you work to bring RJ down."

Lisbon smirked. "You don't like me, do you?" she asked.

Dove opened her door and turned away without answering. Lisbon got out of the car, too, shutting her door just after Dove shut hers.

"Follow me," Dove said, her tone clipped.

"Sure," Lisbon said, and she followed Dove through the doors of a nearby building.

Her first impression was of a crowd. Literally hundreds of people filled the place, just inside the entrance. Voices filled the air - lighthearted, cheerful voices, the voices of friends talking to one another and catching up on each other's lives.

Her second impression was of light. Numerous chandeliers - elaborate ones, as far as she could tell - hung on the ceiling, all spaced out evenly to provide plenty of light everywhere without making any one spot too bright. The light also reflected off of ornate decorations on the walls and ceiling, as well as the glasses many of the people held, jewelry the women were wearing, the eyeglasses of a few dozen people, and the occasional shiny fabrics that constituted people's clothing.

Lisbon looked around. The place was huge, as it had to be to fit the hundreds of people who constituted Red John's 'friends'. While the space was full, it wasn't exactly _crowded_ - there was room for people to mingle and get around. Lisbon's depth perception was hindered slightly by the vision blockers, so she couldn't be sure exactly how big the room was, but it seemed to be bigger than any room she had ever been in before, even courtrooms.

A tall figure detached from the crowd and approached Lisbon and Dove.

"Ah, My Darling Black Dove, you brought her," Red John said, sounding delighted.

"Yes I did," Dove said, her tone of voice impossible for Lisbon to interpret.

Red John smiled indulgently and put a hand on Dove's arm. "My Darling, you needn't worry, she won't cause any trouble," he told her. Dove opened her mouth, probably to protest, but Red John quickly overrode her, saying "I'm aware of your objections, but Saint Teresa is here as an honored guest; do be civil, won't you, My Darling?"

Dove hesitated, then smiled at Red John and nodded. "Of course, RJ," she said. Even though vision blockers, Lisbon could tell that Dove's smile became very forced as she turned it on her. "Welcome, Saint," Dove said.

"Thank you," Lisbon said, a bit of cynicism coloring her voice.

The corners of Dove's mouth tightened, but she said nothing more. She gave a nod, smiled at Red John again, then turned and lost herself in the crowd.

"I don't think your friend likes me very much," Lisbon commented to Red John, as though talking to him in person was totally normal and not at all nightmarish.

Red John's amused smile was plain as day to Lisbon even though her hindered sight. "Don't mind My Darling Black Dove, she was the first of my friends," he told Lisbon. His smile grew fonder as he added, "I'm so very glad you decided to join us, My Dear Little Saint." He walked over beside her and put a hand on her shoulder, ushering her in further. "Do come in."

"She called you RJ," Lisbon noted, trying not to shudder under his touch.

"You'll find that they all do," Red John told her conversationally. "They even call me that outside our get-togethers - it's my preferred name, but safe to use in public, you see?"

"So 'RJ' is your actual initials?" Lisbon asked.

Red John laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, My Dear," he said, "of course not. If someone outside our circle asks, though, we just tell them it's an inside joke."

"And no one asks beyond that?" Lisbon pressed.

"Of course not," Red John said, still smiling.

Lisbon made a note of that - it meant that, whoever Red John was in his day-to-day life, he was someone no one would ever suspect of being, or even being associated with, the serial killer known as Red John. It had to be someone who would completely vanquish any thought of serial killers at all, as even if someone just happened to be thinking about Red John while talking to the man himself and they heard someone refer to him as "RJ", they would be suspicious. It might not be a _likely_ thing to occur, but Red John didn't take chances.

Red John's smile twisted into a smirk, as though he could tell what Lisbon was thinking - which, she reminded herself, he probably could. He knew people, was an absolute master of psychology and sociology - the crowd that surrounded them attested to that.

He didn't comment on it, though. Instead he said, "I was concerned you might not want to come. You are such a diligent agent, after all, and social gatherings aren't your scene - I half expected you to keep to your papers for the night."

"No you didn't," Lisbon said coolly. "You knew I'd come. You know why I did, too." She was there to make a point, but she wasn't delusional enough to think that Red John didn't understand it.

Red John looked at her for a moment, then chuckled. "Ah, My Dear, I never seem to remember just how sharp you are compared to these idiots," he said, his tone nauseatingly fond.

Lisbon blinked - he'd taken a huge risk to say that when the idiots in question were practically pressed against them. Maybe he was more of a risk-taker than she thought. She knew he could read her like an open book, but maybe she wasn't as good at reading him, after all…

"Yes, I do know why you're here," Red John continued, "but to be honest, I don't care. It is my hope that you can manage to have fun here tonight, in spite of the…rather trying circumstances."

"'Trying circumstances'?" Lisbon repeated with a laugh. "You mean like the fact that I'm half blind and this whole party is hosted by _you_ and composed of everyone who works for _you_?"

Red John chuckled back. "Yes, that about sums it up," he said. "Mind you, not _everyone_ who works for me is here, only my Friends; my tools and zombies don't have the pleasure."

"Yeah, yeah," Lisbon muttered, unable to come up with a better comeback, remembering how he had so many people on his side that he could split them into three different categories.

They were almost across the room now. Red John stepped away from Lisbon for a moment, then returned, holding a second glass of some sort of bubbly beverage, and only then did Lisbon notice the drink that had been in his hand the whole time, though unlike the one he had just picked up, it didn't appear to contain any carbonation at all.

He offered her the new glass. "Have a drink, My Dear," he said.

Lisbon eyed the glass warily. "What is it?" she asked. "Some complex concoction you invented yourself?"

Red John laughed affably. "Champagne," he corrected when he was done.

Lisbon warred with herself for a minute, then looked in Red John's eyes defiantly and took the glass. He smiled, acknowledging what she was doing. She didn't care. She was trying to prove to him as well as herself that she could handle him; it didn't matter that he knew.

She took a sip, still meeting his eyes. A fine, soft fizz laced the alcohol, foreign to her.

Quickly, she spat it out, taking care to get it on Red John's suit. "What is this?" she demanded as he produced a handkerchief from somewhere and wiped off her spit. "You said this was champagne!" She didn't know why she was so upset; maybe because such an underhanded prank seemed unlike Red John.

"It is," he said calmly.

"Uh, I've had champagne, this isn't champagne," Lisbon countered, pointing at the glass in emphasis.

"No, you haven't, and yes, it is," Red John said, smiling at her.

"Wh…?" Lisbon was confused for a minute. Then it dawned on her.

"Oh," she said, a bit sheepish. "Right. French champagne."

Red John chuckled. "Did you really think I would allow the standard step-down imitation at my own party?"

"No," Lisbon replied slowly; now that she thought about it, she felt like she shouldn't have been surprised - Red John was always so refined and eloquent, of course he'd only accept the best. She looked around her, flailing in her mind for some excuse other than being slow, then said, "I'm just…surprised you'd buy enough 'real' champagne for over eleven hundred people for a simple get-together."

"You don't think I'd spend money on my friends?" Red John asked, smirking slightly.

"Well, it would take a lot of money, and I know you don't actually care about any of these people," Lisbon replied coolly.

Red John stepped a bit closer to her and lowered his voice. "Of course I don't, but _they_ don't know that, nor would they suspect it, seeing as how I spend lavishly on them anyway," he said.

"You still have to have a lot of money to spare to be able to do it," Lisbon said, lowering her voice likewise, playing along so as to mock him.

"And does _that_ surprise you?" Red John challenged.

Lisbon was silent for a moment before admitting, "No."

"Good." Red John's smile widened, and he stepped back. Then, he reached into his right jacket pocket, and pulled out what Lisbon recognized as the handle of his precious knife. A metal barb, which she knew only too well, jutted out from the side of one end of the plastic; Red John placed his thumb against it and pushed, unsheathing a blade a tiny bit shorter than the handle. Then he brought it to his side and slashed through the air quickly, moving it right beside himself so as not to risk hitting anybody, and the blade doubled in length. Lisbon blinked; because of her vision blockers, she couldn't tell what actually happened. In any case, the result was the very same knife she was twenty-three scars familiar with.

Red John lifted his knife and tapped the blade against the side of his glass, producing a chime rather like that produced by hitting the side of a glass with a fork or other utensil, but somehow finer, almost prettier.

The chatter in the room quickly died down, and all one thousand, one hundred and fifty-some people turned to face Red John. Lisbon couldn't help but be impressed at the single-mindedness of the crowd, how all of them simply stopped talking just because Red John wanted to speak. The pseudo-man himself looked around at everyone present with a radiant smile, as though they were his dear family and just the sight of them brought him happiness - a lie, Lisbon knew, but even she couldn't deny that the ruse was impressively convincing.

"My friends," Red John said fondly, "again we meet. I am glad to see all of you well, and I do hope you enjoy yourselves tonight.

"Now, before I make our standard toast to officially start the evening, I have an announcement to make." He turned his smile on Lisbon, and even though she knew what he was, she couldn't help but feel her cheeks color ever-so-slightly. "As I'm sure you all already know, tonight, an honored guest has graced us with her presence. Please welcome My Dear Little Saint, Agent Teresa Lisbon."

Everyone applauded, almost automatically, as though this had been rehearsed, though it clearly hadn't. Lisbon looked around at everyone uncomfortably, suddenly very much aware of just exactly what crowd she was in the middle of.

Red John smiled and nodded at her, then turned back to his friends again. "Do keep in mind, all of you, that she knows too well the demon I myself am forced to live with, and does not believe in me; no matter what she says, none of you are to take offense. She has every right to believe that I am a monster and nothing more, but you needn't defend me while conversing with her - I will not be offended, so you should not be, either." He smiled at her again. "My Dear, do you have anything to say?" he asked her.

Lisbon blinked, surprised, but quickly composed herself. "I do, actually," she said, raising her voice and turning to look at all of his friends likewise: "You're all either crazy or just plain stupid. This…_thing_-" She glared hatefully at Red John, then turned back to the crowd. "-gets his kicks out of killing people slowly and painfully, and he laughs at you all behind your backs for being gullible enough to support him. If any of you have an ounce of sense, quit standing around drinking champagne and do your civil duty of turning him in!"

This was met with silence; many people glanced at each other, apparently trying to gauge how offended they should be by Lisbon's demand. The atmosphere was tense for only a moment, however, before Red John laughed indulgently.

"Do you see why I respect her so?" he asked his friends; they all turned back to him at once, apparently enraptured. "She would stand right here next to me, among all of you whom she knows would never turn against me, and insult me and all of you, declaring me a monster! She has no fear." He turned his smile on her again, and the fondness in his expression and tone almost made her sick. "My Dear Little Saint Teresa…Thank you for gracing us with your presence tonight."

"Go to hell," Lisbon said bluntly.

Red John laughed loudly, apparently extremely amused by this command. "My friends," he said when he was done, still grinning, and he raised his glass; "a toast to My Dear Little Saint Teresa, a remarkably strong and brave woman whom I am honored to have join us tonight."

"To Saint Teresa," every attendant said at once, and they all raised their glasses, then sipped from them, in complete unison.

Lisbon suppressed a shiver.

When Red John was done sipping from his own glass, he continued what Lisbon realized was probably a speech he'd gone through many times.

"And so, here we all are, again, as we frequently find ourselves, with the exception of those few who could not attend tonight. You all have your lives and various stories to tell one another, but let us all take a moment now to be mindful of the mission, the project, that has brought us together…of the innocent lives sacrificed to our cause, of the pain and chaos I have been forced to sow, so that I might work for the greater good."

The silence that met this was absolute; even though Lisbon knew that everything Red John had just said was ridiculous, even she found herself unwilling to break the silence.

So, she followed Red John's suggestion. She closed her eyes for a moment and thought of the many victims she'd seen, the families she'd had to break the news to, the losses and struggles she'd been through because of the monster hosting this 'party' she was attending…and silently, she prayed for the departed souls of Red John's victims, one and all, praying that they would be avenged, that this monster wouldn't get to enjoy drinking French champagne and telling pretty lies while hundreds of people eagerly did his bidding for much longer.

She opened her eyes when Red John began speaking again.

"Let us also recall the losses we ourselves have had to struggle through, in the name of our mission," he said. "Some of us have died, and others have had to pay other prices." He lifted his glass. "In particular, let us remember and drink to My Sweet Innocent Angel, who sacrificed almost more than her life for me - may she rejoin us soon, in a better world."

"To Angel," everyone said, and again, they raised their glasses and drank the toast in such a synchronized manner, it hardly seemed human. Lisbon had no idea what Red John was talking about or who they were toasting to; she resolved to ask at the first chance she got.

"And of course, to all of us," Red John said at last. "May we all be well and prosper, and be at leisure enough to gather again soon."

"To us," everyone said, and again they all drank at once.

Red John turned to someone in the crowd, someone to the side of and behind Lisbon. "That is all from me; do you have any words, My Darling?"

A voice Lisbon recognized as belonging to Dove said, "I do, but aren't you forgetting something?"

"Am I?" Red John asked. He waited a beat, then chuckled. "Oh yes, how could I have forgotten?" he asked, obviously completely insincere. "Well, the idiot is hardly worth remembering, after all; do forgive my slip."

Everyone laughed indulgently, and Lisbon got a feeling this was just part of a ritual that played itself out every time. She knew what was coming, too - she'd talked about Jane with Red John more than enough to recognize the sort of slight he would often make about Jane even though the man himself would never know about it.

Then Red John surprised her by raising his glass and saying, "To My Foolish Old Friend."

She blinked.

"A fool who, by some unfortunate twist of fate, was born with a gift that he's almost too stupid to realize he has, never mind make use of," Red John went on. "But somehow, use it he does, and because of that, he is law enforcement's best chance of capturing me and stopping me before I can complete what I have begun…present company excluded," he added, shooting Lisbon a look that she couldn't decipher.

A few people glanced at each other - they were so still when Red John was talking, even the slightest movements jumped to Lisbon's attention. She got the feeling he had never included any reference to her in this part of the toast before, and wondered why he had done it.

"But gifted or not, he is a fool," Red John continued at last, "and he will never find me. He will spend the rest of his life chasing me, doomed to always fail, though he could do some good with his talent if he put his mind to it, despite his absolute stupidity. He's even fool enough to call some of you friends of his own." Red John's smirk widened. "Normally, I would ask you to acknowledge yourselves, but on account of our guest, we shan't do that tonight." He looked at Lisbon, who met his eyes expressionlessly. "All the same, none of you are his friends, are you?"

"No!" everyone asserted at once.

"And if he was standing here instead of me, would he have any idea that any of you even knew me?" Red John asked them.

"No!" the chorus of voices repeated.

Red John laughed. "So, here's to him, complete and utter moron that he is," he said; "may he find peace and acceptance with his loss at the hands of my demon, and may he find a way to move on and live his life." Lisbon was surprised by this, until Red John chuckled and added, "Because he certainly won't find it by chasing after me."

Warm laughter rippled through the room.

"To his idiocy!" Red John said, raising his glass further.

"To his idiocy!" his friends echoed, and again they drank.

When he was finished, Red John gave them all a formal bow. "I now cede the floor to the first of us all, the very founder of our group, My Darling Black Dove," he said.

"Thank you, RJ," Dove said behind Lisbon. Everyone turned to face her, but she kept her gaze fixed on Red John.

Lisbon stifled a sigh; she knew this was the part where Red John stood back and let his 'friend' stroke his ego, silently laughing at how stupidly gullible everyone else in the room was to be on his side.

"RJ," Dove said, her tone rapturous, "each and every one of us owes our lives to you, and that is _not_ an exaggeration." She looked away from Red John momentarily to shoot a deadly glare at Lisbon at this. Looking back at him, she went on, "You are our hero, our savior, and it is our honor to stand by you and help you make your vision for the world a reality by any means we can, our pleasure to do whatever you might ask of us. We would follow you to the ends of the Earth, and any of us would gladly die for you if need be. Thank you, Red John, for everything you've given us, and each of us only _hopes_ that we might be able to repay some _fraction_ of the favor over the courses of our lives." She raised her glass high in the air. "Long live Red John!" she proclaimed.

Every other individual in the building, except for Red John and Lisbon, raised their glasses equally high. "Long live Red John!" they all shouted in response. Then, Dove and all of Red John's other friends chanted one more time, together, "_Long live Red John_!"

They drank.

Lisbon waited until the moment everyone took their glasses from their lips, then raised her own glass into the air and shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Long live _Patrick Jane_!" And she drank.

There was a stunned silence for a moment, as everyone stared at her, wide-eyed; she returned their glares without flinching. Then, Red John laughed warmly. "Ladies and gentlemen, my incredibly brave little saint, Teresa Lisbon!" he proclaimed, gesturing to her with a flourish. He gave everyone one last radiant smile, then said, "Alright, my friends, enough formality - stay as long as you wish, as long as you are able, and enjoy yourselves." The crowd started to turn back into an ordinary crowd of people talking over drinks, but Red John called out "Ah-ah-ah!", and they stopped.

He gestured to Lisbon again. "And do remember to be kind and welcoming to our honored guest," he told his friends, a note of sternness in his voice that Lisbon had never heard there before; "she is allowed to speak her mind as freely as any of you, and she is to be treated as one of us for the duration of the night no matter what she says."

Unsynchronized murmurs of "Yes, RJ" and "Sure thing" rippled throughout the room, and then everyone resumed whatever conversations they'd been having before Red John had asked for their attention.

Lisbon took a step closer to Red John. "I gotta admit, it's impressive just how much they all respect you," she said to him.

A huge grin split Red John's face, as though no one had ever said anything nicer to him. "I'm glad you appreciate it, My Dear," he said.

She made a vague gesture. "This whole thing was just to show off to me, wasn't it?" she asked him.

He chuckled. "Not at all," he replied; "we make the same toast every time I call a gathering."

"And how often is that?" Lisbon asked.

Red John shrugged. "Once or twice a week, on average," he said casually, his tone belying the implications of such a statement.

Lisbon didn't comment on it. "Well, your friends' loyalty is very impressive," she said in a patronizing tone of voice. "Let's see how normal they are when they aren't completely entranced by the sound of your voice."

"By all means, do feel free to mingle, My Dear Little Saint," Red John said with a gesture akin to shooing her away. "Talk among my friends as much as you wish, about whatever you wish - you are free to do as you please here."

"And what if I want to leave?" Lisbon asked.

Red John's smile was crueler than she had seen it yet tonight. "That, I'm afraid you can't do," he told her. "I will be taking you back to CBI HQ myself, and I always make a point of being the last to leave this party; it's up to my friends to decide when you go back to your normal life." His lips twitched into a warmer smile as he added, "Don't worry, none of them ever stay for more than three hours, you'll have plenty of nighttime left for sleeping still when you get home."

"Thank you," Lisbon said sarcastically, and she turned away from him and mingled.

She tried to make out the features of the people around her, anything she might be able to use to identify any of them, but her limited vision simply didn't permit it. She felt frustrated more than anything - if she could find just one distinguishing feature about any of the people here, she would have a lead on Red John that she might be able to use when she got back to HQ. But it was not to be.

"Oh, Saint, come join us," said a voice behind Lisbon.

She turned, and a group of three friends were standing together, looking at her; one was motioning for her to come over.

Lisbon took a moment to fortify herself, then forced a smile and walked over to them.

The person who had invited her held out her hand. "I'm Ice," she told Lisbon.

Lisbon shook her hand. "I'm not going to be learning anyone's real names tonight, am I?" she asked, keeping her smile friendly.

Ice laughed slightly. "Nope," she replied.

Lisbon nodded, conceding.

"I'm Siren," said another woman of the small group.

Lisbon shook her hand. "Well, you know my name," she said.

Siren nodded. "Saint…RJ gave you a really good name." She smiled, apparently not upset, as Dove had been, that Red John had shown any form of favor towards someone who was inherently against him.

"I'll take your word for that," Lisbon bantered. She held out her hand to the third person. "What's your nickname?"

"Rich," he replied, taking her hand. He smiled at her. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I'm still surprised you came," Siren said. Lisbon opened her mouth to say something, but suddenly noticed that Siren's words had been directed at Rich.

"You think I'd miss out on a chance to meet RJ's little Saint?" Rich asked, his tone lighthearted.

"Well, you often have much better things to do," Ice said to him, almost teasingly.

Rich shook his head. "Nah, I wouldn't miss this," he said.

"So Red John told you all ahead of time that I was coming?" Lisbon asked.

"Of course," Ice said; "he tells us everything in advance."

Lisbon remembered how he'd once told her that if any of his friends ever objected to a course of action, he conceded to them, but that this had never happened, not even in the case of her abduction. It dawned on her then that these people, who were smiling at her as though she was a friend, a member of this group, had all been willing to let her die horribly.

"Like what he was going to do to me?" Lisbon asked coldly.

Ice, Siren, and Rich all winced. "We…Listen, Saint, we didn't want you to get hurt," Rich said, sounding oddly sincere.

"It's not _your_ fault RJ's stupid old friend cares about you," Siren piped up. "I mean, you're a cool person - er, as far as we know," she added hastily, and Lisbon wondered if she knew this woman in real life.

"What Siren is trying to say is that we had nothing against you, even before RJ took you," Ice said. "You just…were in the wrong place at the wrong time, as it were, and…well, we all support RJ and his cause; that took priority."

"What has he done to make you all so convinced he's anything but an evil freak?" Lisbon asked of them. "I don't get it! He's a _monster_! Why do you all trust him?"

"RJ's given us everything," Rich said. "Take me, for instance. His full nickname for me is his 'Little Rich Boy', but I wouldn't have a penny to my name if he hadn't helped me."

"Rich!" the two women exclaimed, their tones and expressions scolding, and Lisbon got the feeling that he'd told her more than he was supposed to.

"Sorry," Rich said, his tone only a bit contrite.

Ice sighed. "RJ has proven to all of us who he really is," she told Lisbon; "each and every one of us has seen the kinds of things he's willing to do to help people, even if he doesn't need to."

"He doesn't need _any_ of us," Siren added, "but he's given us all so much anyway."

"He just likes to hear you all stroke his ego," Lisbon said, sipping from her glass absentmindedly.

The three chuckled, but not as though they thought she was at all correct. Then, Siren got a very serious expression on her face and said, "So, tell us…is his demon really as awful as he makes it sound?"

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "There is no 'demon'," she said exasperatedly, "there's only Red John - the person he pretends to be so that you'll all trust him isn't real. But yes, _Siren_, I'm sure he's as horrible as he's told you he is; if not, he's worse, I can guarantee you that."

"You spent three weeks with him," Ice said. "How did you manage to survive?"

"He kept me alive," Lisbon answered; "he was…careful, about that." She hesitated.

"What's wrong?" Siren asked.

"She's traumatized, you idiot," Rich snapped at Siren.

"Oh, no, it's not that," Lisbon said quickly, "I've fully recovered. It's just…" She bit her lip, then said, "Jane doesn't want me to tell anyone about what happened to me. He says there's no reason I should have to relive it."

"And you believe him?" Siren asked, as though this was uncharacteristically stupid of Lisbon.

"It's unlikely that holding your tale in is healthy," Ice said, and Lisbon was starting to appreciate her nickname - she was consistently the least emotional of the three by a wide margin. "More likely he simply doesn't want to hear about what you were subjected to, given that all of it was entirely his own fault."

"The moron doesn't know how to face his own guilt," Rich said disgustedly. "He won't leave RJ alone, no matter how many times RJ shows him it's pointless."

"Jane _will_ catch Red John," Lisbon said.

"Pfft," Siren scoffed, smiling. "He's nowhere _near_ smart enough to even _compare_ to RJ."

"I think we'll just have to agree to disagree on that point," Lisbon said, working hard to keep her own smile in place.

"A wise decision," Ice said in agreement; "you're a lot more reasonable than Patrick Jane, at any rate."

"Thanks," Lisbon said, a bit sarcastically, and she took another sip of her drink. She remembered her question then, and she asked, "Now, who's this 'Angel' you all made a toast to earlier?"

Ice, Siren, and Rich glanced at each other hesitantly.

"Angel was…the last of us," Ice said at last, returning her gaze to Lisbon; "the last friend RJ made before Patrick Jane came into the mix - he hasn't had time to make any since, he's so busy trying to teach Mr. Jane a lesson that he's probably far too stupid to learn." She shrugged. "We've all agreed that it's probably pointless, but RJ…well, I'm sure you're aware of just how much he hates Mr. Jane, and how much enjoyment he gets out of causing him unhappiness."

"I'm probably a lot more aware of it than you are, since I've spent so much time on Jane's end," Lisbon said pointedly.

Ice nodded, a bit contrite. "Yes, well, the time RJ used to spend making more friends, he now puts towards making Mr. Jane miserable, and has done so ever since that night he paid Mr. Jane back for his slanderous assault on him in the media," she went on; "Angel was the last to join us before that night."

"She was…a young girl," Siren said reminiscently. "Very sweet, as her nickname reflects." She smiled sadly at Lisbon. "She had only just been brought into our circle when the incident happened - the gathering we all had the following night was her first."

"What happened to her?" Lisbon asked.

The three looked at each other hesitantly again. "She…got in a bit over her head," Siren said; "so far in that she needed to be pulled out, in fact."

"Out of what?" Lisbon pressed.

"Life," Rich answered; "she got so deeply entangled in…certain matters that she…couldn't live her life anymore. So RJ took her out."

"But she's not dead?" Lisbon asked.

"Not…quite," Ice replied hesitantly. "She's…incapacitated, for now - as good as dead, essentially, though her body is alive and healthy."

"RJ's gonna bring her back when he finishes his great work," Siren said. "Until then, she's stuck in limbo, sort of. We all miss her," she added, getting sad again. "We wish she could come back, but she can't yet."

"His great work?" Lisbon repeated sarcastically. "You mean when he cures all diseases and fixes all the world's problems and makes everyone on Earth happy and everyone and everything perfect?"

Siren smiled indulgently. "It _does_ sound unbelievable, we know, but he's going to do it," she said adamantly. "You have no idea the kinds of things he's _already_ invented-"

"Hush, Siren," Ice interrupted.

Siren froze, then closed her mouth.

Ice smiled at Lisbon. "I'm sure RJ will be better able to answer your questions when he takes you home," she said.

"By that you mean you don't trust yourselves to not accidentally tell me something it turns out he doesn't want me to know," Lisbon said bluntly.

Ice hesitated, then smiled and nodded, conceding. "More or less, yes," she admitted.

"Anyway, tell us more about what you went through at the hands of RJ's demon," Rich said.

"Yes, please tell us," Siren agreed, almost eagerly. "It must have been horrible. We all feel bad, we deserve to know what we allowed him to do."

"You want me to tell you everything so that you'll feel _more_ guilty?" Lisbon asked, surprised.

"Patrick Jane is the one to blame for what you endured," Ice stated.

"But we let it happen, too, so, yeah," Rich inserted. "We deserve to know."

Lisbon took a breath, then started telling them the sorts of things she'd been forced through, albeit in as few words as possible - she _didn't_ want to relive it, really, regardless of what Jane's problem with it might be. It was still a horrific tale nonetheless. Other friends from the crowd quickly joined Ice, Siren, and Rich as she spoke, all apparently wanting to hear what sort of horrors she had endured. They all responded in the same ways as ordinary people who bore no connection to Red John at all would have - in fact, the entire rest of the night, the thing that unsettled Lisbon the most about everyone was how _normal_ they all seemed: As long as the topic of who the attendees were loyal to wasn't breached, all of them acted like perfectly ordinary people, with no trace of weirdness or mental instability whatsoever.

As the night wore on, Lisbon conversed with various people about various things and listened to other people tell stories, too, and the stories were so weirdly normal, she had to put effort into remembering exactly who she was drinking champagne with: stories about a mother's eight-year-old child getting stellar grades in his math class, or what one man had done on his recent vacation with his wife (who apparently wasn't one of Red John's friends - when Lisbon asked, he told her that she didn't know exactly where he was, only that he was out with some friends and would be home before it got too late). Every single person there seemed so…so…_person_-like.

By the end of the night, Lisbon sometimes caught herself enjoying the drink and company as though she was at a normal party with people she didn't have any conflict with, even friends. She didn't want to - damn it, she _didn't want to_! - but by the time the last of Red John's friends left to go home, Lisbon was _enjoying_ the party…enjoying _herself_.

As the last person bid Lisbon and Red John goodnight and walked out, Lisbon stood in the middle of the room, her glass almost drained but not quite. The enormous place felt bigger now that it was empty, and even on vision blockers, the space was almost disconcerting.

"Did you have fun tonight, My Dear?"

Lisbon turned around. Red John, whom she hadn't seen since walking away from him after the toast, was standing right behind her, smiling.

Lisbon smiled back. "Go to hell," she said pleasantly.

Red John chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes," he said.

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Yeah, fine, I had fun, whatever," she admitted; "mostly because I didn't see hide nor hair of _you_ the whole time."

Red John just smiled pleasantly. "I'm glad," he said, sounding oddly sincere. He held out a hand. "Are you finished with your drink?" he asked her.

"Hang on," Lisbon said, and she upended the glass, allowing the last drops to drain into her mouth - Red John's or not, it _was_ real French champagne, and she wasn't pigheaded enough to waste it just to make a point. Red John's smile widened a bit, but he didn't comment, just took her glass when she was done and walked away.

"So how are you taking me back?" Lisbon called after him.

He set the glasses - hers and his own, which was also empty now - down on a low table before turning back to glance at her. "Just a moment, My Dear," he said; "let me get my coat." And he walked away.

Lisbon stood where she was. Now that she was alone, the whole situation felt very unsettling, and she took the moment of privacy to rub her arms against the goosebumps that were creeping up around her scars. No matter what Red John was going to do now, she wasn't going to show any pain or fear, but it wouldn't be as easy as she was going to pretend it was.

When several minutes had passed since Red John had left, Lisbon started to feel worried. Had he abandoned her? Surely not - that kind of thing was far beneath Red John's high and mighty affect. But what was keeping him?

The door through which he had left opened suddenly, then closed, and Lisbon blinked - if the place hadn't been so well-lit, she might have mistaken the figure that stepped through the doorway for nothing more than a shadow. Well, that and the fact that she'd seen the same figure through vision blockers before, if only once, and briefly at that.

"You got all dressed up just for me?" Lisbon teased. "Aw, RJ, you shouldn't have."

Red John strode across the room, strong and confident and rather intimidating in his 'hunting costume'. "I get 'all dressed up' for practical reasons, My Dear Little Saint," he told her as he reached her. He paused a moment, then added in a voice that almost made Lisbon shiver, "And I'm pleased with how you've taken to using my friends' nickname for me…I like the sound of it on your tongue."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Lisbon said, smiling, as though she was only a bit amused by this comment and nothing else; "the party's over, and I'd like to get back to my life, so let's go."

Red John walked past her and opened the front door. "Ladies first," he said, holding the door open and gesturing with a flourish.

"How very gentlemanly of you," Lisbon said, still smiling mockingly, as she walked outside.

The parking lot - bigger than the one at CBI HQ, to reflect the significantly greater amount of space inside - was completely empty now, with not a single car in sight. She turned to Red John, who was just closing the door behind him. "You're not going to walk me home, are you?" she asked.

Red John chuckled. "Follow me, My Dear," he said in response, and he began striding to a far side of the parking lot.

Lisbon followed. The world looked even stranger through vision blockers at night, and she knew she would never be able to tell if she by chance came across this place in her real life. She hated how Red John was able to blind her _just enough_ to keep her from seeing anything he didn't want her to see, and not a bit more, with such precision, but there was nothing she could do.

As they reached the edge of the lot, Lisbon was able to discern the shape of a vehicle that she hadn't noticed from a distance. It looked similar to Red John's 'hunting costume', as he called it, in terms of how her eyes interpreted it while she was on vision blockers, but not quite the same. It wasn't until they were only a few steps away that she recognized it, however.

She stopped, her eyes wide.

Red John turned back to her. "Is there a problem, My Dear?" he asked her, putting a hand on the vehicle that looked like a motorcycle but different.

"I recognize that," she said, unable to completely keep her voice from shaking. "You rode that away after you saved my life that one time."

Red John gave a very tired sigh. "Yes, thank you ever so much for reminding me of that night," he said unhappily. Lisbon smiled; he truly hated that he'd had to save her life - absolutely _hated_ it, as much as most people would hate being forced to kill someone - and she knew it. He took another breath, then ran his hand over the seat fondly. "My ride," he told her; "I never had a need to name it, but my friends dubbed it 'The Nightrider'." He shook his head. "Fools," he said under his breath.

"Like 'vision blockers' is any less lame of a name for the drug you have me on right now?" Lisbon asked pointedly.

Red John sighed. "Names are a _convenience_, My Dear, not a necessity," he said; "I've told you that once before, as I'm sure you remember. 'Vision blockers' describes exactly what my drug does, with no embellishments or complications. The '_Nightrider_'," he said, his tone coloring with distaste as he recited the name, "is downright silly. 'Night' is not a noun describing a thing that can be ridden on - in, yes, at a stretch, but not _on_, as the stupid name implies."

"So how _does_ it work?" Lisbon asked, finally able to walk up to it and him. "If your friends gave it such a special name, it must be worth something."

"I made it myself," Red John said, a smile in his voice, and he ran his hand over it fondly again. "I synthesized the materials from which it was made, put every tiny bit of it together, lavished a great deal of work and creativity on the mechanics and the engine…" He smiled, so widely it was visible under his black cloth mask. "I do have my vain moments, and there's nothing like this in the world," he said proudly.

"Like how there's nothing like _you_ in the world?" Lisbon asked.

"Precisely, My Dear," he said.

Lisbon nodded. "Alright," she said. "So tell me, what's so special about it?"

Red John chuckled. "Well, for one thing…" He hooked his right index finger under a nook in the casing, then casually lifted the entire thing up into the air by the one finger.

Lisbon's eyes widened.

Red John chuckled again. "Lighter as a feather, so to speak," he said, "and absolutely perfectly balanced from every point on it; very convenient for when I need to hide it away - no one looks for a vehicle in the branches of trees."

Lisbon was rendered speechless. "How?" she finally asked.

"Oh, it took a great deal of work, and the explanation is probably far too technical for you," Red John said dismissively, setting it back down; "you have a sharp mind, but you didn't study chemistry quite intensively enough to get a degree in the subject, so it's probably beyond your understanding. No offense meant," he added lightheartedly.

"None taken," Lisbon said, her eyes still wide.

Red John chuckled slightly. "That's just one of many features I had to work hard to integrate," he told her; "most of all, I'd have to say my favorite is the engine - probably not by coincidence, it was also the most difficult piece."

"What's so special about it?" Lisbon asked, almost genuinely curious.

"Are you familiar with the laws of thermodynamics?" Red John asked her in reply.

Lisbon smiled mockingly. "Do you always answer a question with a question?" she challenged.

"Are you challenging me?" Red John asked.

Lisbon's smile widened. "Do you accept?" she asked.

Red John chuckled. "No," he said; "I decline. We don't have time for it that game right now, not really, considering how good you are at it."

Lisbon chuckled herself. "So tell me what the deal is," she said.

Red John took a breath, not exasperatedly. "The laws of thermodynamics - of the very universe - state that neither matter nor energy can be created or destroyed," he began. "The law of entropy, however, states that some energy is lost in any chemical reaction or physical alteration in anything. If energy cannot be destroyed, however, then where does it go?"

"I don't have the faintest idea," Lisbon replied.

"It still exists, My Dear," Red John told her; "it's simply inaccessible, out of the universe for all intents and purposes…or rather, _most_ intents and purposes."

Lisbon thought she could see where this was going. "You're going to tell me your motorcycle runs on entropy?" she asked, extremely incredulous.

Red John chuckled. "That's a rather eloquent way to phrase it, yes," he replied.

Lisbon shook her head, smiling. "You're making this up," she said.

"I think you credit me with far too much cunning," Red John teased.

"How so?" Lisbon bantered. "I didn't know you thought it was possible to overestimate you in _any_ regard."

"It's not," he admitted. "That said, if I _am_ making things up about this machine, you'll never be any the wiser, so just take my word for it and get on."

"You want me to get on your deathmobile?" Lisbon half-laughed, her eyebrows raised.

"I'm going to take you back to the headquarters of the California Bureau of Investigation," Red John told her; "yes, I want you to get on."

"Go screw yourself," Lisbon scoffed. "I'm walking home."

"Do you have any idea where you even are?" Red John asked her, a familiar note of malice (finally) creeping into his voice.

"Nope, and I don't care," Lisbon said; "I'm not getting on that thing."

"What are you so afraid of?" Red John asked her.

"I'm not afraid," Lisbon said firmly; "I just don't want to touch anything you use when you go around killing people. Technically, I'm breaking the law just to have attended your little party - I am _not_ getting on that thing."

"Well, then, how about we make your time here a bit more legal?" he suggested.

"And how do you propose we do that?" Lisbon asked sarcastically.

"Go ahead and try to arrest me," Red John replied with a shrug.

Lisbon's eyes narrowed, and she said nothing.

"Go ahead!" Red John urged her. "Give it a try, if it'll make you feel better." He turned around and held his gloved hands behind his back - hands, she noticed, that were _not_ holding his beloved knife. "Go on, put me in handcuffs - I know you brought your pair."

Lisbon hesitated, then slowly took her handcuffs out of their holster on her belt - she had indeed brought all her equipment as an enforcer of the law, if only by virtue of not taking her belt or any of her holsters off before leaving CBI HQ. She walked over to Red John slowly, wary of any sudden movements he might make.

"Go on," he said again. "Do it. I dare you."

Lisbon's eyes widened, and with a bit more ferocity, she stepped forward and clasped her handcuffs around Red John's wrists. She opened her mouth to declare him under arrest, but he lurched forward, breaking out of her grasp, sprinting all of two steps before quickly turning around to face her.

There was silence between them for a moment.

"What are you going to do?" Lisbon asked, almost afraid of what the answer might be.

Red John chuckled, then twisted back around so that his back was to her, though his head was still facing her. She watched as he clenched his fists, maneuvered his arms so that they would have as much leverage as possible, and quickly yanked the handcuffs apart. One of the links of the chain popped open with no more resistance than a twig, leaving the cuffs on Red John's separate wrists, a few chain links dangling from each.

It took every ounce of self-control Lisbon had not to cry out in shock, to keep breathing, and to not stumble back, step away from this freakish, impossible _thing_ that was too strong to be human.

But Red John wasn't done. He reached into a pocket and pulled out his knife - sheathed in its handle at the moment, but he quickly unfolded it into its full form. Then, very gently, he placed the edge of the blade against one of the cuffs and dragged it across the metal very slowly and deliberately; he then did the same to the other cuff. Then, he held out his hands, and Lisbon watched as her mangled handcuffs disintegrated and lightly fell to the ground as a fine powder.

Lisbon's eyes were wide and fearful as she stared, first at the small piles of dust on the ground, then at the person who had made them.

Red John laughed evilly.

"Do you feel better now, My Dear Little Saint?" he asked mockingly.

Lisbon forced herself to breathe. "What…What _are_ you?" she asked.

He chuckled. "I am many things, My Dear Little Saint," he replied; "first and foremost, I am am a monster…and _you_ can call me Red John." He laughed again.

Lisbon tried not to shake, not to tremble in fear at this _thing_'s very existence. Then, quickly, without even giving herself time to think about it, maybe even too quickly for Red John to react, she reached to her belt, drew her gun, turned the safety off, and fired directly at Red John's forehead.

Red John didn't flinch, didn't move even slightly to avoid the bullets, as Lisbon fired again and again until her clip was empty. When she pulled the trigger and it gave nothing but a hollow click, Red John was still standing.

"Nice try, My Dear," he hissed; "if I hadn't been wearing my hunting costume, you might have actually been able to kill me - I wasn't able to predict your action, and I might not have been able to move in time if I had needed to." He laughed again, darkly, then added, "But this cloth is stronger than the most effective of bulletproof vests - you didn't even leave a bruise."

Lisbon couldn't help that her hands shook, and she gripped her gun a bit tighter, not able to make herself lower it even though it was empty.

He walked back over to her. "I do apologize that you were forced to waste so many useful resources like this," he said, "but I hope I've made my point."

"Which point?" Lisbon asked, her voice shaking only slightly.

"That you have no say in anything now that you're here," he replied. "If it makes you feel better to think of yourself as my prisoner rather than my honored guest, by all means, feel that way. Now get on my machine so I can take you home."

Slowly, Lisbon lowered, then holstered, her gun. She shook her head slightly, keeping her wide eyes fixed on Red John. "I don't know what you are," she said in a low, shaking voice, "but you are not human."

"I thought we were already clear on that?" Red John said lightly.

Lisbon just shook her head again, but she conceded and finally moved to try to climb onto the Nightrider. Red John offered a hand to help her up, but she shied away, too overwhelmed by his display to act tough, and he didn't protest. At first, she was afraid of tipping the machine over, but it quickly became evident that she wouldn't be able to push it over even if she tried. She managed to clamber on into what she guessed was the seat with only a little bit of difficulty.

Behind her, Red John gracefully vaulted onto the machine in one leap, positioning himself comfortably in the driver's seat, needing to push Lisbon forward a bit as he did so.

"I'm sorry, but I'll need you to move forward a bit," he told her; "I never planed to share this ride with anyone during its construction, so this might be a bit cramped…" He put his arms around her, gently clasping his hands over the handles that would steer the device, as though to make sure he could still reach them, before pulling back slightly and twirling his knife around in his fingers for a moment, uncomfortably close to Lisbon.

"Can we just get going?" she asked, not liking the way her body was more or less pinned against his.

"Of course," he said. He hesitated, then said, "Move your right leg forward a bit."

Lisbon complied, and Red John quickly stabbed his knife into the spot where her thigh had been a moment before. She flinched, but heard a click as he turned it, then released the handle; evidently, his knife was the ignition key. She got the sensation of silent power radiating into the air from the thing she sat on, sort of like a TV that was on in the same room but muted. There were more soft, metallic clicks as Red John hit some levers with his boots and clasped the handlebars again, firmly, and twisted and adjusted them in a series of movements that Lisbon couldn't follow.

"Hold on," he said in her ear.

Suddenly fearful, Lisbon gripped the metal in front of her with her hands, trying to find purchase, and clenched her thighs.

Then, Red John pulled back on both handlebars sharply and simultaneously, and without a sound, they shot forward like an arrow fired from a crossbow.

The air tore at Lisbon's clothes and entire body, especially her jacket, but not nearly as hard as she would have expected based on how fast they seemed to be going - it couldn't have been less than two hundred miles an hour. Still, she wavered for a moment, almost unable to hold on. Then she sighed, conceded, and leaned back into Red John, who was strong and sturdy and held her securely in place.

Apart from the wind in her ears, there was no sound; the machine was completely silent. She turned her head left and right, trying to see something, some landmark, _anything_, but between the speed of the Nightrider and her vision blockers, everything around them looked like a vague, almost-uniform blur. Red John, on the other hand, could evidently see well enough to steer them, and they flew down what must have been roads without incident. His movements were calm and confident, and after a minute of this, Lisbon couldn't help being impressed underneath all her fear. She glanced back at him, and though she couldn't really see his expression, something about the whole situation rendered her awestruck. He was a monster, horribly evil, there was no denying it, but there was so much more to fear about him than that. He was strong, and fast, and smart, and so completely confident no matter the situation, all to degrees Lisbon would have thought impossible if he hadn't demonstrated all of it to her. She certainly hated him, and she feared him a great deal more than she would ever admit, but at that moment, there was something…something _beautiful_ about him, something graceful and elegant and powerful, that simply demanded her respect in spite of it all.

The moment passed, and shortly after that, he jerked the handlebars sideways, and they spun into a tight one-eighty that brought them to a stop, the back tire whining from the friction against the pavement, not too loudly to alarm anyone who might be nearby.

Lisbon took a second just to catch her breath before looking around. When she did, she found that they were in the parking lot of CBI HQ, the place different-looking but not quite unrecognizable through vision blockers.

"Was that fun?" Red John asked.

Without waiting for an answer, he gracefully dismounted and slid to the ground, offering Lisbon a hand to help her down that she was too overwhelmed to refuse. She stumbled when her feet hit the pavement, and Red John put an arm around her to keep her from falling. "Careful," he murmured.

Lisbon found her footing, then glared at him and pushed him away. He didn't resist, instead taking a step back voluntarily. Then, he reached into a pocket and pulled out a needle. Lisbon's eyes widened.

"I'm going to restore your sight now," he told her; "do hold still."

Lisbon took a breath and closed her eyes, angling her neck slightly in permission. She didn't flinch as the needle jabbed into her skin, and when it came back out a moment later, she opened her eyes, blinked twice, and found herself able to see clearly.

She looked at Red John, and at the Nightrider. It was easier to appreciate the pitch-blackness of both when she could sense colors and fine details; they both presented a very formidable image. Red John looked back at her, and for a minute, everything was still.

Lisbon didn't know what to say. 'Thank you'? That seemed a little too friendly, all things considered, and she wasn't really grateful to him for anything - his very existence was a bad thing in her eyes, so how could she be?

After a minute, Red John stepped forward and cupped her chin in his gloved fingers, gently, almost lovingly.

"Thank you for coming tonight," he said, sounding almost emotional with sincerity, and Lisbon's speechlessness became for a very different reason. "It was a pleasure to see you in person again, and I'm glad you were able to enjoy my little party. You don't have fun often enough."

"I'll be the judge of that, thanks," Lisbon said, finding her voice.

Red John chuckled slightly. She was expecting a verbal comeback, so she was shocked when, instead, he put his arms around her, pulled her close, and kissed her on the mouth through his mask.

For a moment, she tried to pull away. Then she caught herself, and, defiantly, she closed her eyes and returned the gesture. _You can't hurt me anymore._

At the reciprocation of the touch, Red John actually released her and quickly took a step back, as though surprised. Lisbon smirked at him.

"What's the matter, RJ?" she asked mockingly.

He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head slightly and laughed. "Oh, My Dear Little Saint," he said fondly; "blessed be thy fire. Would that I had that sort of strength and bravery…" He shook his head again.

"You think I'm braver and stronger than you?" Lisbon asked, surprised.

"Oh, very much so," Red John said. He shrugged. "There is nothing that I fear; I am numb, so I cannot be brave or strong. You, on the other hand…" He trailed off, then shook his head again, as though at a loss for words, which was very unlike him.

Lisbon said nothing.

Red John sighed. "It's such a shame you've given your heart to someone so stupid as My Foolish Old Friend," he said; "you could do so much better."

"Better?" Lisbon repeated, raising her eyebrows at him. "You mean like you?"

Red John laughed. "My dear, if there is anyone in the world who is _less_ deserving of your affections than My Foolish Old Friend, it is I," he said, "and that is a very big 'if', at that. At least _I_ appreciate you for what you are: Something…extraordinary. Exquisite."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Well, I guess it's just as well that I haven't given my heart to _anyone_," she said pointedly.

Red John sighed. "You really do love your castle in the Lovely Land of Denial, don't you?" he asked mockingly.

"I'm not in denial, and I'm not in love with Jane," Lisbon stated firmly.

Red John just shook his head. "Keep telling yourself that, if you must," he said.

"Oh, I will," Lisbon assured him.

He chuckled, then trailed off again, and again, there was silence between them.

"May I…tell you a secret, My Dear?" he asked her at last. "One that no one in the world but you could possibly understand?"

"By all means," Lisbon said affably.

He chuckled. Then he said, "I…didn't think you would ever recover from what I did to you. I know the degree to which I broke you, and I thought there was no way you could ever be fixed."

"I felt that way, too," Lisbon said without thinking.

He nodded. "Yes, well…" He hesitated. "When you…started to show signs of recovery, just at the very start, I…could hardly believe what I was seeing." Lisbon made a mental note to check her apartment for hidden cameras, though she doubted she would find anything. "I couldn't believe that the fire in a person could be so strong that it could be revived after being doused so completely."

"Can we get to the 'secret' part?" Lisbon asked, smiling.

Red John smiled back. "Of course," he said. "The secret is, your recovery…did not make me feel malcontent."

"Huh?" Lisbon asked, confused.

"I saw you getting better, saw your trauma and pain lessen, and I…didn't dislike it," Red John said. "After a while, when I thought back on the things I did to you, I…found that I no longer enjoyed the memories. I didn't regret them, by any means, but I didn't enjoy them, either."

"What are you saying?" Lisbon asked.

Red John sighed. "Seeing people hurting makes me happy, and seeing people happy almost hurts me," he told her; "as I told you, the one thing in my life for which I feel remorse is giving a young child a quick and painless death, as opposed to the alternative. But…well, I'm not sure exactly when this came to be…but…you are an exception - _the_ exception - to this. I…do not wish harm on you." He shook his head. "It's the strangest feeling, to imagine someone in pain and not enjoy it," he told her; "it's not something that words can express, really…"

"I think I get it," Lisbon said, forcing herself not to think too hard about anything she was being told, for the moment at least; "it's kind of like how I wouldn't feel unhappy if I saw _you_ suffer - I don't enjoy people's suffering, but you're an exception."

Red John's smile was visible beneath his mask. "I knew you'd understand," he said in an odd tone of voice. What was that? Was it…relief? Gratitude? _Something_ that seemed unlike him, that much was certain…

Lisbon didn't think she could take much more of talking to him. With an air of finality that would normally accompany a farewell, she said, "Go to hell, Red John."

He chuckled. "Good night to you as well, My Dear," he said, getting back on the Nightrider.

"Will this be the last time I'm invited to one of your little parties?" Lisbon asked.

Red John laughed. "Not at all," he said, and he readied his ride to go. Just before he pulled back on the handles and sent his vehicle flying into the night, however, he paused and looked at her; she could feel his eyes boring into hers though the black cloth that hid his face.

"I love you, Saint Teresa," he said.

Lisbon didn't have a chance to do more than blink before he was gone, only a slight ripple of wind giving any indication that a person and vehicle had been in the space in front of her a moment before.

For a minute, Lisbon stood rooted to the spot. The whole night had just been too strange, and she was just…confused. Overwhelmed, and confused. The whole affair had messed with her head badly, and she wondered if she would _ever_ get her mind in order, never mind in time to meet with the team the next day, especially Jane.

_I can't let Jane know what happened tonight._ Of all the thoughts in her head, that one was the clearest. She hadn't been planning on telling him anyway - she really _didn't_ need to run crying to him whenever Red John did something, her recovery had been complete and she could take care of herself, including when it came to Red John - but considering just what exactly had happened, she needed to make sure that he would never suspect that anything involving Red John had happened this night. She'd been hiding the fact that Red John had been calling her every night from him for a while, so she knew she could keep secrets from him, but…this was something she needed some time to work out.

And that meant no paperwork tonight.

With a sigh, Lisbon finally uprooted herself from where she stood and walked to her car. As she drove home, she couldn't help but wonder, every moment, every turn of the road, if Red John was passing her by, too fast to be seen. He could easily have passed her fifty times as she drove, and she would never be any the wiser.

At home, Lisbon relieved herself of her jacket and belt, taking a moment to load a new clip of ammo into her gun. It was then that it occurred to her that she would need to come up with some sort of excuse regarding what had happened to her handcuffs. _I'll take care of it tomorrow,_ she decided, too tired to do much else; _right now, I need to get some rest._

Of course, rest didn't come easy. She tossed and turned in bed for a while, unable to stop thinking about everything she'd seen and heard over the course of the past few hours.

_This changes nothing,_ she finally told herself, relaxing into sleepiness at last; _Red John always had these parties, those people have always been on his side, he's always had that impossible machine and costume and everything, and he's always been impossibly strong and smart and whatever. Nothing has changed. He's the same as he always was…and Jane will bring him down someday._

_He has to._

~o~

Sure enough, Lisbon was invited to more parties after the first - not every single one Red John threw, from what she could gather, but some of them. She accepted every invitation she received, and, as with Red John's calls, she hid these outings from Jane.

Red John's friends were scary in how normal, but at the same time fiercely loyal, they were. No matter how hard Lisbon tried to reason with or even shock them, none of them wavered in their devotion to the pseudo-man that Lisbon knew to be more evil than humanly possible. While none of them were ever direct about it, some of them even very much disliked her, partly for her position as leader of the team that was hunting Red John, partly for her friendship with Jane, and partly - especially in Dove's case, Lisbon noticed - because of Red John's abundantly evident favor towards her, which bordered on what Lisbon hesitated to think of as 'affection'. It seemed that he wasn't withholding his declaration that he loved her from his friends, and some of them envied her, while others were spiteful, though most respected her for being someone Red John found worthy of his respect. Had Lisbon not known Red John's true nature, she might have been flattered, even tempted; as it was, she was creeped out, as well as confused to the extreme.

It seemed as though all the things Red John did involving her - calling her, inviting her to his parties, bringing her back to HQ on his impossible vehicle that Lisbon was somewhat ashamed to have fun riding - were attempts to coax her out of her strictly professional life and give her a personal life, even a social life, of sorts. It had been so long since anyone had done that…It almost made Lisbon miss the only unprofessional friend she'd ever had, the one who had given her the cross she always wore. It was so strange…Red John had taken her soul and almost her life, but now he was sort of giving her more of a life than she'd had in a very long time, and Lisbon just couldn't stop wondering, _why_? It made no sense. What did he stand to gain by any of it? Her theory that he was trying to break her again was quickly sunk, as she made it clear that, if anything, her constant interaction with him only made her resistance to his evil stronger, yet he persisted all the same.

He didn't stop killing, or even slow down; to anyone unaware of his sort-of relationship with Lisbon - even Jane - there was no apparent change in any pattern of his behavior at all. He readily discussed his kills with Lisbon, and sometimes even hinted at what he was about to do the night before another report of a victim reached the CBI. He was very sly about it, giving Lisbon just too little information to make use of, even to protect the next victim he was going to take, but still always saying something to let her know. It was frustrating, really, having so much contact with the monster and yet having nothing whatsoever to show for it.

The strangest thing that ever happened in this weird, twisted sort of form of a relationship, however - even weirder than the parties of his that she attended - was the first time Lisbon's birthday rolled around following her recovery:

At the end of the day, at the time when she went to her office to either sit down and work or find and accept an invitation to one of Red John's get-togethers, she found a small, wrapped box in exactly the place the invitations usually were. The wrapping paper was green and unadorned, the box underneath black. Inside the box was a pair of impossible emerald earrings: two large emeralds carved to match the cross she always wore around her neck, gold embellishments imitating the diamond at the center and turning into wires that wrapped around the tops before coming to graceful hooks.

Green. The opposite of red. All of it was so deliberate, and the earrings were so beautiful and masterfully made, Lisbon didn't need a note to know who the gift was from. She didn't even have to ask when he called her later that night. She just hid them away, same as everything else, only utterly confused that they existed.


	7. Red John's Heart, Part 3

After attending a few parties - and enough time had passed that she had received her earrings - Lisbon finally came to a party of Red John's that was attended by someone she had always expected to see there. Almost ironically, _he_ was the one who found _her_.

"Agent Lisbon."

Lisbon turned to see a man smiling warmly at her - familiarly, even. From the sound of his voice, she guessed he was old, and that was enough for her to guess his name.

"Brett Stiles," she said, turning to face him and smirking. "I've been waiting to meet you at one of these get-togethers. What took you so long?"

"Yes, I've heard that you've been attending these gatherings of ours every so often," Brett said, walking over to her; "I, unfortunately, have been away since before you recovered. I must admit, I was surprised when I heard the news…RJ's demon is a truly terrible force, and given the other details I'd heard about your ordeal, I didn't expect you would recover at all."

"A lot of people didn't," Lisbon said; "Red John himself still can't get over saying how surprised he is. But here I am."

"Yes, indeed, here you are," Brett agreed, still smiling warmly at her. "I must say, I'm very glad you _did_ manage to recover…I always knew you were of admirable character, and besides that, it would be rather unfortunate for Patrick Jane to save your life only for you to be unable to resume it."

Lisbon nodded slowly. She noticed then that the people she had been talking to before Brett Stiles had approached her had vanished into the crowd, leaving her alone with him.

"You look positively ravishing with your hair tied up like that," Brett told her.

She smiled. "Thank you," she said. She had worn her hair up to show off her earrings - just to prove that she _could_ wear them, that the only reason she didn't wear them anywhere else was because she didn't want anyone asking where they had come from, especially Jane.

"Those earrings," Brett went on. "They're quite unlike anything I've…ever seen before." He tilted his head, as though pondering something, then said, "I presume RJ made them for you with his own two hands?"

"I presume so," Lisbon confirmed mockingly.

"Odd that he would choose a green stone," he said, "considering how much he loves red."

"That's exactly why they're emeralds," Lisbon told him; "he knows how much I _hate_ red."

"Ah, I see," Brett said, chuckling slightly. "Still, an interesting choice of stone…I would have expected him to use jade, it being so much easier to carve."

"He likes knowing he can give me a gift no one else ever could," she said, her smile teasing. "Quite a romantic monster, isn't he?"

Brett chuckled. "It's really quite unlike him to show such favor, truth be told." Lisbon blinked, surprised by this. "He has done a great deal for everyone you see here, but very rarely does he grace one of us with the fruit of his own, personal labors," Brett told her. "You are not one of us, yet he made you a present himself. He must think very highly of you indeed."

Rather than consider the implications of this, Lisbon pounced on the part she might be able to draw some useful information from. "He's done a lot for everyone here?" she repeated.

"Oh yes," Brett said; "I'm sure you've heard many stories."

"Actually…no," Lisbon said. "No one will tell me what Red John did to win their loyalty. Rich almost did, once, but Ice and Siren hushed him, like he wasn't supposed to tell me."

Brett chuckled at the mention of Rich's name. "I'm sure Rich wanted to tell you _exactly_ what RJ did for him - make you want to maybe join us yourself, if you felt so inclined."

"I would _never_ take Red John's side in _anything_," Lisbon said firmly.

"Of course not," Brett said; "but Rich can be…a very hopeful sort of fellow - too much so for his own good."

Lisbon didn't know how to take this.

"In any case, I expect our stories have been kept from you so that you wouldn't be able to find any of us out in the real world," Brett went on.

"But I already know you," Lisbon said slowly. She gave a coy smile. "I don't suppose you could tell me _your_ story?" she asked, almost teasingly.

"I most certainly could," Brett said; "in fact, I would be happy to."

Lisbon's smile widened. "I'm listening."

Brett smiled back. "Well, Agent Lisbon," he began, "when I was a young man, I was…not so fortunate. I was a beggar, essentially, barely attended school…my family didn't have a penny to their names, and this made my parents in particular…rather desperate." Brett's perpetually cheerful mood darkened for a moment, and Lisbon recognized the look of someone briefly remembering and then quickly re-burying a painful - even traumatic - memory. "I don't like to think on those times," he told Lisbon, "only on how RJ found me out in the streets one day, and as soon as he saw my misfortune, he offered to take me in. I figured I had nothing to lose, so why not?

"RJ gave me everything I had never had - a home, an education, a future…he was kind to me, and very supportive." Brett chuckled. "RJ is less than half my age now, but he was the closest thing to a parent I ever had, really, as he was to many of us."

"I'm sure he was," Lisbon said. To her, Red John's manipulation and trickery were painfully obvious, but she was silent, allowing Brett to continue.

"As I said, I received an education, making it through grade school, high school, even several years of college," Brett continued. "RJ gave me everything I needed, though he was careful not to spoil me, not to give me more than was necessary - not out of a desire to withhold anything from me, mind you, but out of a desire that I be as independent of him as possible, as I had every right to be, being many years older than him. The day came when I had gone as far in my education as it was possible for me to go without making a decision about what I wanted to do for a career…and right after I graduated, RJ told me his…_terrible_ secret."

"About how he's in a symbiotic relationship with an actual demon," Lisbon said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Brett chuckled. "I wouldn't expect you to believe it - it _is_ rather ludicrous, I know," he said.

"Then why do _you_ believe it?" Lisbon asked sharply before he could continue his story.

Brett blinked. "Well, he had already shown me that he was a good man, the evidence was undeniable," he said; "I can't imagine any other possible explanation for the horrible things he does, outlandish though his explanation may be."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said. She took a sip of her drink, then said, "So then what happened?"

"Well, I was brought to a gathering of RJ's friends, rather like the one we are attending at this very moment, though there weren't quite so many attendants back in my day," Brett replied. "I heard from everyone here - especially Dove - about all the things RJ had done or was doing. I, ah…" He chuckled with what almost seemed like embarrassment. "I admit that I received rather a shock that night," he confided in Lisbon. "I was forced to completely rethink my beliefs about who he was - not only was he a good man, and a great one, but he was also a leader, and a genius to boot!"

"Well, I can't argue with those last two points," Lisbon said dryly.

Brett smiled. "In any case, it was that night that I graduated from being RJ's ward to being one of his friends - independent of him, but absolutely loyal to him…and each and every one of us has been given a present upon our induction: We may choose whatever sort of future, whatever sort of career, whatever sort of life, that we may desire, no matter what it may be, and RJ does his best to give it to us."

"Let me guess," Lisbon said; "you wanted to be him."

Brett Stiles laughed at this. "Yes, as it so happens," he said; "I'm surprised you picked up on that so easily."

Lisbon smiled mockingly. "I know how he works," she said, "and I admit that this group _is_ kind of like Visualize."

"Oh, Visualize is _nothing_ compared to this, not really," Brett said modestly.

"Oh no?" Lisbon asked. "This is basically a cult where everyone is so certain that they're fortunate to be part of it because their lives were all made so much better by the guy in charge. Sounds a lot like Visualize to me."

Brett laughed. "That reminds me, _Saint_, I never formally introduced myself," he said, and he held out his hand. "Among RJ's friends, I am known as 'Guru'."

"'Guru'," Lisbon repeated, eyebrows raised, as she shook his hand. "Yes you are."

Brett chuckled warmly. "In any case, I decided that I wanted to help people, vast numbers of people, just as he had done," he told Lisbon, finishing his story. "I wanted to give back to the community, to the _world_, what RJ had given me - pay it forward, as they say."

"Well, I'd have to say you certainly succeeded," Lisbon said.

Brett grinned. "I'm not sure if that was meant to be a compliment or an insult," he commented.

"Neither," Lisbon told him.

Brett looked at her questioningly.

"I'm not denying that your church has helped a lot of people," Lisbon said, "and I'm not denying that Red John has, in his own twisted way, helped a lot of people too - not because he _enjoys_ helping people, mind you, but because of how blindly loyal to him all of his former 'wards' are and how powerful it makes him feel." Brett opened his mouth, but Lisbon overrode him, saying, "I know you believe in his lies, and I've talked to the people here more than enough to know that trying to talk sense into you is pointless. The thing is, the same can be said about trying to talk someone out of their membership at Visualize - your followers are blindly loyal to you, and it's their loyalty that you covet by running the church, not their well-being."

"Agent Lisbon, I realize you endured a terrible ordeal, but would it really be so difficult to think a bit better of RJ - or me, for that matter - than that?" Brett asked.

"Yes," Lisbon said, laughing, "and you're not going to work your little mind games on me to try to make me see the light or whatever. I've fought off mind games played by both Jane and Red John - you wouldn't be able to make a dent on me."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," Brett Stiles said affably; "I was just hoping you might be a bit more open-minded now that you know to what lengths Red John has gone for hundreds of people."

"You said _Rich_ can be too hopeful for his own good?" Lisbon said pointedly.

Brett chuckled. "Point taken," he conceded.

Lisbon smiled mockingly. "Besides, it's no big secret that even _your_ business isn't all about helping people - in fact, it's not even all legal," she said. "Remember the FBI's investigation into your church?"

Brett laughed heartily at this. "It wasn't quite as intensive as you were led to believe," he told Lisbon; "most of it was just convenience to give Craig…" His smile faltered, and he trailed off, no doubt as he remembered Craig O'Laughlin's ultimate fate.

To Lisbon, however, the words were a punch to the gut, as she remembered the circumstances under which the man she now knew to have been one of Red John's friends - not to mention a fraud - had first entered the CBI.

"He crashed into Van Pelt's car," she remembered out loud. "Said he was tailing them because of investigations into Visualize…"

"Yes," Brett said. He noticed her expression, and a rather nasty smirk formed on his own face. "Have you only just begun to think of this?" he asked her, almost tauntingly. "Craig O'Laughlin was, as you know, one of us, and he came into Agent Van Pelt's life while claiming to investigate me, another of Red John's friends - oh, and he just _happened_ to have some background with her family. You've only just begun to suspect the whole scenario was staged?"

Lisbon's eyes widened, all traces of amusement gone from her face, and she felt sick to her stomach. "What was going to happen to Van Pelt on her wedding night?" she heard herself ask.

Brett's smile was almost as wicked as Red John's typical expression. "Based on the question you've chosen to ask, I presume you already know the answer," he replied.

"Was Red John already planning to take _me_ back then?" Lisbon demanded.

"Yes," Brett admitted, and Lisbon swallowed hard, battling her gag reflex. "Nowhere near as soon as he ended up doing, but yes."

"Wh…And you…You were all just okay with all of this?!" Lisbon sputtered, completely shocked.

"We weren't _happy_ about it, Agent Lisbon," Brett said indignantly, "we never are! We simply prioritize Red John's ultimate mission - the good of the many - over the lives of the few. Besides, had it not been Agent Van Pelt and, later, you, it would have been someone else, except that it wouldn't have been quite as painful for Patrick Jane."

"So _that's_ what makes it all okay?" Lisbon asked angrily. "As long as Jane gets hurt _especially _badly, it doesn't matter who else gets hurt or dies, is that it?"

"Well, that's a rather brash way of putting it, but…I can't say that you're wrong," Brett admitted.

Lisbon just shook her head. "Red John says there's nothing wrong with any of you, but I beg to differ," was all she could say.

"And you are more than welcome to do so," was all Brett had to say in reply.

Lisbon was speechless with disgust.

Brett Stiles gave a slight bow, then said, "Well, I must catch up with my fellow Friends of Red John. It has been a pleasure talking to you, and I hope to see you at more gatherings in the future. Take care."

"Yeah, you too," Lisbon muttered.

And he walked away.

When Lisbon got home later that night, she set thoughts of O'Laughlin and Van Pelt aside and pondered Brett Stiles's story about how he had met Red John. _Red John takes people who have nothing and gives them everything,_ she concluded, _and he does it in a way that makes it seem like he's not trying to buy their loyalty - he's probably careful to provide guidance and instruction in how to handle daily affairs such as money and work-to-leisure ratio, making them feel like they're actually _accomplishing_ something, with him just giving them a leg up. It's clever,_ she admitted to herself. _It's a very clever ploy._

_I wish I could tell Jane about it._

_But I can't. I can't tell him about any of this. I can't…_

And she never, ever did. Not even as weeks became months, and months became more than a year, she never let Jane know anything at all.

Nor did he ever suspect anything. After all, why would he? What reason could he possibly have to suspect that Red John would ever do such things, or that Lisbon would ever let him? It wouldn't make any sense at all.

* * *

><p><strong>Alright, you all got an extra chapter, you lucky people, but that's it! This particular story is now OVER.<strong>

**The next installment is called "Ruby Crown", and it is a crossover between The Mentalist and Criminal Minds. I promise a truly grand final****é, one ****worthy of the Red John I have created…and there might be some aftermath stories to look forward to as well. ;D Also, this is the fandom I'm focusing on right now, and remember that ALL of my Mentalist stories are canon for each other (same goes for Criminal Minds, but the only fanfics I've written for that involve one specific villain, so they won't really be relevant).**

**Anyway, thank you all for your support - it's people like you few fans who say you love my story and beg me for more who motivate me to write this story that, truth be told, I've already had planned for years. I'm so glad to be returning to this and seeing it through at last, and I'm so glad to have you all with me. Let me tell you, it's going to be a wild ride! XD**


End file.
